Birth Story 2.0

This one is going to be less exciting since I didn't actually go into natural labor. Background:

When I first got pregnant, I was working with geriatric patients that should have been in palliative care, but refused because they didn't think they were that bad. I took them to the hospital a LOT for different illnesses like pneumonia and staph infections, and also for their various equipment failures, like PEG tubes getting yanked out or falling on their kitchen floor. I figured I could work through the pregnancy since I was going to advocate for more medical interventions this time around. They put me on 3 different drugs to try and control my nausea: Zofran (got a huge migraine and discovered an allergy to it), Phenergen (supposed to make you sleep, does nothing to me), and Diclegis (again, sleepy drug but I am apparently immune). The Phenergen and Diclegis worked together to make food tolerable for me but I still had a lot of off days. Rather than losing 40 lbs this pregnancy, I gained almost 80, even though I wasn't eating measurably more than before. My dr said this could be how my body compensated during pregnancy, or how my body reacted to the drugs/difficulties in this pregnancy (more on that later).

Working conditions deteriorated to the point I had to quit. I hadn't let my employers know about my pregnancy because they were looking to save money at the time and I knew my pregnancy would be used against me, wage-wise, so I kept quiet about it. I'm glad I quit when I did, even though it meant we were an unemployed household, because it meant I had more positive energy and less stress. At the 20 week ultrasound, we were elated to find out it was another boy. The dr came in afterward and said, 'There's an anomaly on his heart; probably because our machine is so low-tech, but we're sending you to Maternal Fetal Medicine to check it out.' I spent a month trying not to stress about it and everyone reassured me that it was just a machine malfunction, like they said. The day of the appointment came and we went in for the ultrasound. We got some great pictures and wonderful videos of our little boy moving around and posing for the camera. The tech didn't say anything, so I was relieved nothing had come up.

The doctor came in and said our baby had a hole in his heart and he was referring us to neonatal cardiology right away. I cried and tried to compose my thoughts as we walked over to cardiology. I sat on the table for another hour while the silent tech took pictures and videos exclusively of the heart. Another doctor came in and looked at the pictures. He talked to his assistant about 'pulmonary artesia' and 'Tetralogy of Fallot' but to me... all he said was that our baby could have a missing artery, might not, there's no way to know this early so I should go home and try not to stress about it. He said, 'This isn't our first rodeo.' to which I replied, 'No, but it is mine.' And he laughed, but I was serious. He might not have an emotional connection to the pregnancy because he'd dealt with it hundreds of times before, but this was my first 'problem' child.

Appointments upon appointments would follow. With our first, we got 2 ultrasounds; 1 to see if he was there and 1 for his anatomy scan. With this one, we had over 15. First, we were told the top regional hospital was a last resort kind of thing. The next appointment, they strongly advised that I transfer my care to that hospital. We moved states to be closer to where I was going to deliver. The appointments got closer together. They confirmed Tetralogy of Fallot, probably accompanied by DiGeorge Syndrome, a genetic disorder sometimes called 22q11 deletion. It can affect everything from immune response to developmental delays. Everything in between.

Fast forward to induction day. He had to be induced because we lived far away from the hospital and it was more risky to have him come naturally than to have everyone in place for when he came.

They told us to come at 5 in the morning. We left at 1:30 to get there in time, only to find they didn't have any beds. We waited around until almost 10:00 am, then we got back. I changed into the gown and we waited. A nurse came in with a Foley balloon to dilate me more (I was 1.5 when I checked in, 40% effaced). I had that in for about 3 hours, then it came out while I went to the bathroom, along with the bloody show. I thought, 'Sweet, we're about to get underway!' Wrong. They hooked me up to Pitocin, which wasn't too bad, then transferred me to another room closer to the NICU. They kept upping my Pitocin and I bounced on the birthing ball for a little bit to relieve the pressure. It was still hovering in the 'period cramps' range, so it wasn't too painful. The anesthesiologist came in and talked to me about different methods for controlling pain, saying the epidural was the most effective way to treat pain without affecting the baby. The other methods could cross over through the umbilical cord and affect the baby, leading to a harder birthing process. He encouraged me to get one because it would be easier to administer it sooner rather than later. I agreed to get one when they broke my water because even though I wanted to go through it medication free, I didn't want to stress out my baby's heart because I was in pain.

They brought in the guy who was going to do the epidural and... he was a student. He stuck me a few times and it didn't hurt as much as them ripping the tape off my leg hair to get the Foley bulb out. Then he stuck me in the wrong place and it felt like the sensation of licking a battery... but in my spine. After they squared everything away, my legs went dead. I felt useless. I hated it so much. I couldn't move my lower half at all and all my strength basically disappeared. I had to lay in the bed a certain way to get the epidural to drip evenly. I guess they put it in wrong? Then I felt nauseous. I pressed the call button because I knew nausea meant my blood pressure was dropping. Literally out of nowhere, I lost the ability to talk. I tried communicating with them about how I was feeling, about how numb my chest and throat were. I felt useless and the more I tried to control my emotions, the more out-of-control I felt. I cried, again, and more people kept coming in to look at me and ask how I was doing. The more I tried to articulate it, the slower I talked, the less I could control my mouth. They were talking about a possible stroke... but it didn't feel like my brain was affected, only my ability to talk. I still thought the same way, only now I was trapped in an unresponsive body.

After almost an hour, the sensation gradually faded and I was able to talk normally. They think my body shut down my speech center in the brain because I passed out... I didn't pass out, but I didn't seem to suffer any ill effects so I let it go.

I got to 6cm and the epidural wore off. They had me on a continuous drip, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't move, or even talk. The nurses tried to shift me around, but I had absolutely no strength. I'd been up for over 24 hours at this point and I was exhausted. Moving my giant body was even harder than before, especially since I couldn't feel my body from my belly button down. Unfortunately, I still felt every single contraction. The only way to cope was to grip the side of my bed and try to grit my teeth through the pain. I was too tired to even yell, or do anything other than silently bear it. So basically I did my second labor 'med-free' except I was also useless in bed, so I couldn't even move to the birth positions I'd wanted from the beginning. They also had to cut off my Pitocin, at that point, because the baby wasn't tolerating it.

After all the hype about epidurals, I was expecting something more effective. I couldn't move, couldn't do anything, and that was SO MUCH WORSE than just going through the pain by itself. Imagine choosing the 'no pain' option, only to be confronted with 'PAIN, only you can't move around to try and cope with it'. It was the worst. He descended, finally, so I could push. He kept crowning, then backing up. They got the forceps to help him out. My Mom says they basically tried to rip me open to get him out. My pushes... didn't feel effective at all. I was thinking, 'Push!' but I don't think it actually did anything. I felt the first few, but near the end, I didn't feel anything when I 'pushed'. They laid him on my chest for about 10 seconds while they cut the cord, then took him away to the NICU.

The reason why he didn't descend was a huge, tight, knot in his cord. They also think that's why he panicked so much during labor; because he wasn't getting sufficient oxygen flow through his cord to compensate for the stress of delivery. I didn't tear at all (my Mom was surprised because of the aforementioned manhandling) and I could actually get up and walk around after almost a day of waiting for the epidural to wear off. By the time he was born, I'd been up for almost 48 hours.

Based on my experience, I would not get induced again and I am NEVER getting an epidural. I don't care who says what about it, my biggest concern was that I would get it and it wouldn't work, and I was right. My body didn't take to it and I could have the leading expert in epidurals offer, but I would still refuse. The pain of labor is nothing to the panic and embarrassment of having to rely on the nurses to move your legs for you and feeling trapped in your own body.

I told my husband our next one would be different and he quoted the adage of 'Getting kicked in the balls is worse than childbirth because you never hear men saying, 'Do it again!''

To which I replied that if a guy got a reward at the end of it, like a beer, guys would be trying to kick THEMSELVES in the balls all the time. We finally came up with a satisfactory rebuttal. Take that.

Hidden Joy

I'm experiencing a joy no one else can see.
You can't feel or touch it
or see what's happening to me
but I'm happy.

I'm exultant in the morning
because I know it's there, that secret joy
and in this world where chaos and evil seem to stand the test of time
I want to offer my light
little light
to the world.

I can't be happy because
I'm worried about you
your reaction
whether or not the circumstances are pleasing to you.
Because my joy is now a door that hinges on your acceptance
and I have to worry about you more than me
your perception and not how I feel.

I have to keep it inside
and hide
and keep it away
so much keeping
rather than opening
rather than sharing

Rather than being happy for myself and those around me, rather than smiling for my family I dress myself like I'm ashamed of what's happening because that's how you would react. I hide my changing body and my face and my emotions and act like everything is the same when it's so different and I'm so different. All I want to do is tell and talk and share and sympathize and because of you I have to hide this most precious part of me like it's something I didn't want, like the only thing to think of are consequences and labels and not the moments and movements of a glorious future unfolding full of love and kindness.

I understand where you're coming from. I understand that you're worried, why you think the circumstances should determine my happiness. I'm quiet because I understand. I resent you, but I understand. The last thing I want to do if push you further away because you think my life has a timetable.

I do this
and you can't be offended.
You won't get
to squawk
to talk
and bemoan the lack of trust
you've already determined my timing wasn't good enough.
Don't be surprised.

I miss myself

Thinking about old friends lately, wondering what happened to them and why we can't talk anymore. I remember how much it hurt, bridging the gap between where they were going and me, feeling the differences stretch between us like fabric caught on a nail, threading apart and losing strength.

I miss you, butterfly girl, with your sweet ways and fake British accent. I miss your warmth, how you enveloped everyone with your motherliness. I don't know where you are now, but I hope you're happy. I couldn't follow you to the path of the occult and you needed too much for me to stay neutral.

I miss you, lock boy, with our mutual interests in video games and movie quotes. I miss your solidarity and your determination to be melancholy. We lost touch, lost focus, moved out of similar spheres and now we no longer talk. In the silence, I wish you peace and love, the lasting kind.

I miss you, cat girl, with your attitudes and unapologetic in-your-face facts. I miss NCIS and House, curled on the couch together. I miss pranking our bad roommate and you educating me on the world, on how to think. You're one of the first people who taught me how to think. I miss being around you, but I know better than to wish you luck. You make your own luck.

I miss you, cigarette girl, so effortlessly cool, but nerdy, not afraid to flaunt the laws of college, unafraid of your love of the macabre, willing to do anything for love. I miss our laughs and how you could always get me to be a little bit more than myself. I know you're happy, but I wish we had more to talk about than trading likes on Facebook.

I miss you, bunny boy, the way you just accepted me and were always there when I needed a friend. I miss our classes and how you taught me 'cool' skills, like long-boarding. I miss not talking about things with you, just walking, or getting cheap pizza. I miss how you made me feel confident enough to reach out to others. I hope you found who you're looking for. You deserve every happiness for how you made me feel.

I miss you, Reaper. I miss your love of ghosts because you thought they needed love. I miss the way we could finish each other's sentences. I miss your nervous smile because you didn't think you deserved to be happy. We had to leave because we flew too close to the sun. I'm so sorry. Of all the friends I've loved and lost, I regret you the most. I did not know what happy was until we met. I hope you have found your peace, your happiness, your strength.

Maybe I miss who I was when I was with you, all of you. I miss my bravery and self-confidence, the way I could walk into a room and not be afraid of what would happen next. I miss my past for different reasons, and maybe that's why I'm afraid to move forward... moving into another chapter means leaving the one I was in, getting further from the time when I didn't have to worry so much about what was going to happen next. I miss not thinking about the future. I miss putting off decision-making because it didn't have to happen just then. I miss my childhood, the way time slowed down and everything was hard and there in the moment. The past didn't exist and the future seemed as far as the horizon. I miss my life before, and those who made it happy.

I couldn't take them with me because... my future happiness depended on them being absent. I wish we could have gone back to the way things were, or kept them the same. I don't like change because it's cost me some of my favorite people. I can wait for something new and try not to hold it to the same expectations.

That's Not Love

"My boyfriend was abusive, so I broke up with him, but my relationship isn't as fulfilling, even though he's a great guy"

"I keep checking up on my ex-girlfriend over social media. I just want to make sure she's happy."

"I don't have a relationship as exciting as with my ex."

"It feels like they're the only person I'm going to love forever."

Sound familiar?

You're in luck! Today I'm going to break down why people feel this way!

First off, let's get one thing out of the way. You are NOT a bad person for breaking up with someone who was bad for you. Sometimes people just don't click. That's not a bad thing. You're not a bad person. Even if they abused you and seem to be doing better with someone else, that doesn't mean you breaking up with them was wrong. How do I know? Personal experience. Let's take a look at 'The Office', in particular the scene where Jim and Pam (stupidly) go to Roy's wedding. Pam notices how fancy everything is, much more elaborate than her own wedding. Roy seems nicer, he owns his own successful gravel company, AND he learns how to play the piano just to serenade his new wife. Does Jim ever play the piano? No. Does Jim give her a super fancy wedding? Well, Jim makes her grandma think she's a slut.

But we love Jim! Pam loves Jim! Why does she suddenly feel so awkward in her own relationship? Because abuse is addictive, and addictions take a lifetime to break. Look at how Roy treats her in the first season. He ignores her, talks over her, won't let her make her own decisions, and forces her to do things she doesn't want to do. He doesn't even see Jim as a threat because he's so confident that he knows Pam's limitations. Granted, Pam isn't perfect either, but we're looking specifically at Roy's side of the relationship. It's obvious they're just in this because it's comfortable.

Is Pam a bad person for breaking up with him? Would he eventually have learned how to play the piano for her? We'll never know and we never HAVE to know. It's logical to say that he probably wouldn't have, but that's not the point. The point is that Pam married Jim and is happier with him now than she was with Roy then.

Need another analogy? I'm allergic to basil in a psychological way. I loved pesto and ate it at every opportunity until I got sick. Now I can't have what even looks like it because my body is so sure it is poisonous to me. If I even think basil is in a dish, I get sick, regardless of whether or not it was used in preparation of the meal. Does this mean basil is bad for everyone? No. My Mom still loves basil and grows it to make her own pesto. My husband eats basil in his pasta, my friends enjoy it with fresh salads or pizza, and that's ok. I'm allergic to something that not a lot of people are. That doesn't mean I should try and force myself to eat basil to convince everyone else I'm normal.

You can have a bad relationship with someone even if others get along with them. That does not make you crazy or a terrible person. My ex and I were horrible for each other. He cheated on me regularly and while I was nowhere near a model girlfriend, I never cheated on him. We broke up and he dated the girl he had cheated on me with. Does that mean I'm crazy for breaking up with him? I don't think so. We weren't good together; it doesn't mean he couldn't be good with someone else. Orange juice and toothpaste do NOT go together, but that doesn't mean chocolate and mint, or chocolate and orange don't taste great.

Why do we feel the need to check up on our exes? Why is it so wrong that they're happy with someone else?

Most people would say it doesn't matter that they're with someone else, they just want to make sure they're happy. Why does it matter? Why does their happiness matter to you? Millions of people exist, love, hate, and die without you being aware of them, why is this person who caused you so much pain worthy of your notice? Is there really nothing else you could be doing besides making sure your ex is happy? How will you ensure their happiness, if you care so much?

What about missing them? Sure, they cheated on you, but the sex was great, or they were the best kisser you've ever been with. Maybe they were a pathological liar, but you two could talk about anything and everything! Now you're looking at your current relationship and saying, "Well, she's a nice girl, but she's just not as exciting as my ex." or "He treats me really well, but I don't feel the same way about him that I felt about my ex."

First off, you're admitting you should be attracted to the better person you're with. You've acknowledged that your current relationship is healthier. That's a good thing. Now, think back on what could possibly make you want to go back. Selfish desire for passion in the moment? Or maybe it's an addiction.

That's right. I said addiction. You're addicted to your ex. When you're in an abusive relationship, you become addicted to the person because they're constantly disappointing you, so when something good actually happens, it tastes a lot sweeter than it actually is. All those times they came home late, reeking of alcohol and tripping over themselves, all those nights you held your feelings in, or maybe you let them have it, either way, you were disappointed. It became normal. Then they come home early one day. You come in the door, and there they are, ready for a night in with you. You're ecstatic about the change in behavior as opposed to expecting it from a relationship. You no longer expect your significant other to respect you or your wishes for time with them. And you miss that? No, you miss the high you felt when they did something unexpected and good. Just when you were about to give up hope on them, they dump their side chick and say you're number 1. You shouldn't be happy about that. You should expect to be number 1, not wait for them to decide that you're worth it.

You're addicted to an allergy, someone that causes you pain regularly. And if you compare your happiness now to your happiness then, you'll see that it's more stable and better for you. That's not going to stop some people from going out and dating toxic people; people have their own choices after all, but it should prevent you because you need to look out for yourself. You don't start sniffing peanut dust if you're allergic, you don't cover yourself in honey if you're allergic to bee stings, and you definitely can't stay at the top of a roller coaster forever.

If you go in for a crazy relationship, you're going to end up right where you started, and probably a little worse for wear. That's the nature of bad relationships. You might miss the highs, but the highs come with lows and you are not a bad person for not dealing with the lows. This, 'If you can't handle me at my worst' nonsense detrimental to psychological and emotional health because the person is acknowledging their worst is something outside of the norm, not worth handling. The worst should be something outside of their control that you weather together, not a 'quirky' personality trait they bring up. It's one thing to be aware of problems; it's another to be aware of them, yet refuse to fix them. Acknowledging the problem is not the same thing as fixing it.

Break free of them, or at least stay away from them. I say these addictions are lifelong because they're going to consume you for the rest of your days if you let them. The key is to resist the urge to look up your ex, resist the urge to see who/how he's doing, what she's up to with her work. They can be happy without you knowing about it. Someone in India/China/Ireland/Canada/New York/your hometown could be happy without you knowing about it, and it does not detract from your happiness one iota. Be strong for yourself. Be strong for your future self. This will either be a day you look back on and regret, or a day you remember for staying strong.

You are more now than you were with them. Every day you exist is another day you were more than they said you could be. Addiction is not love. Abuse is not love.

YouTube and Aphantasia

I'm jealous of people who can draw. I've never had a talent for drawing and my voice isn't particularly pleasant to listen to. I had a lateral S lisp when I was little, which means my s's came out like the soft 'th' sound. It's still around, but gets more pronounced when I talk faster. I also have a nasally voice. I want to change it, but I haven't had the money to spend on making myself talk pretty... too much going to keep me alive.

Which is why I watch YouTube, particularly the YouTubers who draw... which is most of them. YouTube is an auditory and visual experience, both things I'm bad at.

I don't know if I've ever written about this here, but I can't picture things in my mind's eye. I don't even have a mind's eye. I didn't know this was a thing until I was reading a meme about it online. It said, 'My mind was blown when I realized other people couldn't see things in their head'. Wait, what? You can actually do that? And... I can't?

For all the research I've done, there's varying degrees of aphantasia (can't see with your eyes closed) that register differently. Some people can see, but not hear. Others can only do certain colors or only remember the smells. I...see words. That's it. I'm a huge reader, and most readers say they like reading because it's like watching a movie in their head.

Harry Potter movies came out when I was little and all my friends expressed how different the actors were from what they had pictured in their heads. I thought they were talking about the illustrations in the book and was like, 'Yeah, those are caricatures, nobody actually looks like that'. I know what words mean because my brain words like an 'AutoFill' feature on a phone with a thesaurus linked in. I read that Snape had sallow skin. My brain fills in 'yellow' for 'sallow' and if somebody asks me what skin means, I can break it down in several different ways which is why I'm a good story-teller. However, when thinking 'sallow=yellow' I don't actually see the color yellow. Writing this, I have no idea what my husband looks like, but I could describe him because I remember him with words. I have written his face into my memory and I recognize it when I see it, but I can't... pull it up.

This has been great when getting over people because I have no idea what my ex looked like when we dated. I know what I wrote him as, but he doesn't appear behind my eyelids. The only time I see things is when I dream, which is every night. I have very vivid dreams and I have a lot of trouble separating myself from them when I wake up because my brain only sees when I'm asleep or have my eyes open; nothing in between. I can describe the color 'red' or things that are red to you, even putting a poetic spin on it, but when I close my eyes, I can't see it.

I thought 'picture yourself on a beach' was a metaphor. When teachers said, 'Close your eyes and go to your happy place', my happy place was a description of a place I thought would be cool to go to, not actually a place I'd been before.

My mind is like watching a play between the scenes. You hear the scrapes so you know people are moving set pieces around, but you can't actually see anything going on. I have thoughts and my brain words, but I don't have visual proof that things are happening. My thoughts seem to spontaneously appear, but I can trace where they came from by the 'sounds' they made to get there... if that makes sense. Logically, they came from somewhere, and I can backtrack to the source if I have to.

Anyway, this is why I'm so bad with art. I can't picture things in my mind that I want to draw. I know a description of what I want to have happen on the paper, and if someone else did it, I could point to it and say, 'That!' but I can't replicate it. My biggest learning curve happens when I have to visualize something, or remember what something looks like when I don't have time to form a word description. I'm terrible in sports because I have only words as a way to help me. If I make a basket in basketball, I have no idea how my body was contoured to make that happen. Playing any musical instrument requires me to play it several hundred times and commit it to muscle memory before I can achieve it. I can't visualize a piano or a guitar, so the only way I can practice is with an actual instrument. If I work with a different instrument, I'm lost because I've committed that description of that particular guitar/piano to memory and associated it with whatever playing skills I have.

Overall, I didn't know this was different than other people until I started researching it. I didn't know I was missing out on anything. I'd like to feel somewhat sorry for myself, but the truth is I've gone so long without, and I literally can't picture my life with that ability. I can describe it, but I have no idea what it would be like.

Side note: I'm terrified of Alzheimer's because I have no idea how it will make me forget things. Will it erase the words I know, or just the descriptions I have? Once those descriptions are gone, will they only be partly gone, so I can recognize my husband's mouth, but not the rest of him, or are they a package deal? I have no idea... maybe I should research Alzheimer's patients with aphantasia...

Returning to YouTube, I would love to be able to make enjoyable content for people, particularly on a platform I spend so much time on. I love cooking and writing and I feel that, with lessons, I could communicate on an understandable, if not thoroughly enjoyable, level. I want to share what I have with others. I've been told that I'm a great story-teller and I believe it. One of my passions is taking complex stories and breaking them down so the content is not lost, but the stuffiness is. My husband wants to make YouTube videos of me telling stories like Greek Myths or breaking down Shakespeare, or even my take on news stories. However, my limitations mean anything audio or visual I create won't be perceived as I want it to. I'm not sure where writing falls on the scale of the senses because you read it with your eyes, but you can technically read it with your fingers and ears too... language is an experience, not a sense, yet me writing 'yellow' and saying the word 'yellow' will conjure the same mental picture (I'm assuming) of a color you'd compare to lemons or sunshine. Language doesn't have a sense, so relying on a specific medium to transmit my ideas doesn't work since I don't understand exactly how they're being perceived.

I write 'Harry Potter' and Daniel Radcliffe probably jumped to a lot of your minds, or the cover of your favorite book, or a scene from the movie, or even just the fact he has glasses and a lightning bolt on his forehead. So many ideas encapsulated in one word.. and I evoke those reactions, memories, sensations, just by writing 2 words that, prior to 1997, weren't related at all.

There isn't really a moral or a point to this post, just some things I was thinking about at 1:30 at night when I should be sleeping because I have to get up super early tomorrow to go shopping with the family... but I'm learning to take the moments for myself whenever I can and make the most of them, even if they're inconvenient. I need me time and I need to express those feelings whenever I can.

PS, it's also really confusing for me when someone I know makes a big adjustment to themselves because it's different than how I've described them in my head. I usually don't recognize them at first unless I concentrate on the parts they haven't changed. That's how I ALWAYS know when someone got a haircut or styled their hair slightly different or is wearing different makeup. I always notice. So... never feel like your efforts to improve yourself are wasted because I will notice if you change yourself in any manner.

More Time

I'm running out of time

But that's not right.

I'm really running out of energy. The right energy.

Growing up, we sometimes make up things to get the sweet stuff, like, 'I have a dinner tummy and a dessert tummy' to try explaining that we didn't want any more dinner, but we had plenty of room for the ice cream. I feel that way about my life sometimes. I don't have any energy for the stuff I don't want to do, but I can stay up all night reading or something. Right now my baby is asleep on my bed and he didn't get a shower today. Not a huge deal, but he did go swimming, so he has chlorine on him. He ate crackers and a cookie in bed, so there are crumbs everywhere, plus my tool bag from playing keep away, a mostly-clean diaper that I took off before we went swimming, a book he was reading to grandparents, and clean laundry that still needs to be folded and put away.

My husband has been gone for almost a week and I feel like I haven't gotten anything done that I wanted to. The room is still a mess, there is still laundry everywhere, and I feel like a failure.

The thing is... just existing in the morning is exhausting. Just running around after my kid is exhausting, not just physically, but mentally, I am responsible for this child, his mental and physical well-being. Before having kids, I could go to the store and NOT think about things. Walk into the store, grab a cart, grab things, buy things, leave with things. I probably wasn't going to be kidnapped, so I could rule out that, and as long as I kept my giant wallet in my cart right by my hands, nobody was going to grab it from me. Plus, I didn't let anybody get close enough to try it. With a kid, I have to worry about where he's going, what he's next to, if someone gets close to him. Even being home, with nobody else around, I'm worried about him falling down the stairs or getting into the trash when I turn my head, something happening to him. I'm conscious of myself without thinking, but I have to force myself to remember him, constantly, and it's mentally draining.

I take a nap near the second half of the day, not the middle, but sometime around 2-3 because that's when my brain shuts down. It doesn't matter how early I am awake or how early I go to bed, I am exhausted around that time and will remain exhausted until I collapse into bed.

My energy for reading, for typing, or for watching YouTube videos seems never-ending though. I feel bad that I can't transfer that energy, the energy that would let me play Skyrim all night, or read a book until 3 in the morning, but I can't. That energy exists in a place untouchable by my real duties and obligations.

I've had to allow myself the privilege of relaxing and taking a break. I have to coach myself through the day, which is humiliating, but it's all in my head, so thankfully nobody else can hear me telling myself it's totally ok to take a nap today, or eat a muffin instead of a piece of fruit. Totally ok to drowse a little and let your child wreak havoc on the room. I can get ready to go swimming, get my child ready, Skype friends and family, make that hard phone call. Sometimes I have to grit my teeth and just do something, but there's nothing wrong with a little self-love. Treat yourself like you would your best friend. When you see that you're struggling, give yourself a break. You'd tell your friend to do the same, maybe even force them, so extend yourself the same kindness. Think of yourself as a friend, project your actions onto a friend and see if you'd still judge them so harshly.

And if you do, maybe counseling is the next step in your self love process. That's fine. We all need help and there's nothing wrong with a therapist when you need to fix your relationship with somebody, even if that person is yourself.

Crisis of Faith

I've been going through a crisis of faith recently, doubting the existence of God, or rather not wanting to believe the logic of what I was dealing with. While I was dating my husband, I realized he came with a lot of baggage. He was frequently angry over little things, didn't have a good relationship with his parents, and frequently went 3-6 days without texting, Facebooking, or contacting me in any way. Obvious red flags.

Originally, it was just supposed to be a fun fling, something just for physical purpose's sake. Then we went down to meet my parents (on their request) and my Mom asked me if I had prayed about marrying him. Since we had dated for 2 weeks, I said no. With regards to religion, I'm LDS, which means we pray to God for inspiration about important things because He knows everything and, as such, would know how to deal with whatever situation is at hand. It took me a long time to pray about it because I really didn't want to get married, but I finally did. The answer was to marry him. I was confused because I felt God wasn't respecting all these red flags going up in my relationship, but, again, God knows better, so I went forward with something I figured was going to resolve itself eventually.

Almost 3 years passed before I humbled myself enough to really search for an answer. During that time, we fought almost constantly.

My husband is a good man with a good heart. I have to get that out there before I go on. He really is a nice guy, but he's been abused and hadn't come to those terms before the events I'm about to mention. He cares about me and has never abused or cheated on me, nor do I think he ever will.

We had a son during that time, and the stress of being a mother and being tied to someone so needy when I'm so independent and anti-social was so frustrating, but the straw that broke the camel's back finally came when he moved away for a month. We've never been close, so the fact that we didn't see each other every day made it worse. I chalk it up to the fact we weren't friends before we got together, it was something that just kind of happened, then God said, 'Yeah, wife that' and made it permanent. We don't 'click' and communication is NOT our strong suit since we communicate so differently, it's like we're speaking different languages. I'm not talking about how I normally talk one way and nobody else comprehends I'm even speaking a language except 2 people, no, I'm talking about how I'll present something and he interprets it completely differently, reacts to what he thinks is happening, then I'll react to him without knowing why he's reacting that way, and we blow up repeatedly until we're too tired to fight anymore. We are rarely on the same page and I say rarely, not because I can think of any times where we've been on the same wavelength, but because I'm pretty sure it's happened, it just isn't coming to mind. The conversation does not 'flow' between us, so when you remove face-to-face contact, it pretty much grinds to a halt. We only talk about surface level stuff, we only progress when one of us is depressed; then we go down the path of maybe friendship until the other person is pulled out of their depression and BOOM! back to surface-level again. A month apart made it so much worse.

Another facet to this conversation is that I am a largely sexual person and my husband is not. I placed a large part of my identity into my sexuality as a person and defined myself by my sexual nature. I am not flirtatious (anti-flirtatious, I hate being flirted with and I hate flirting), but I am sexual. My husband, on the other hand, prefers cuddling and gentle touching. This has been a huge trial since, as an LDS person, we are taught sex before marriage is inappropriate and dangerous, particularly because those feelings of intimacy are supposed to be reserved for marriage. I struggled with this growing up because puberty and hormones hit me as hard as they can hit a person (and societal shaming made me uncomfortable admitting I had sexual feelings, leading to repression and subsequent abusive relationships where I could act on my desires without feeling guilty) but was constantly comforted with the thought that this was temporary because all guys love sex, and whoever I married would be thrilled to have a wife eager for sex.

So, at this point, I'm sexually frustrated in my marriage and feel 100% neglected by God because I'm in this situation in the first place. I was promised something, right? I was promised an end to my suffering and even though I wasn't perfect, I hadn't actually 'done the deed' so where was my reward? I had 3 situations I was considering, and only 1 of them could be true.
1) God loved me, knew everything, and placed me in this relationship specifically to help me grow. Things were tough now, but they would be better.

This is the most comforting because God exists, He loves me, and my trials have a purpose. All the bad stuff happening just happened because I wasn't spiritually close to Him, which I wasn't since reading the scriptures and praying wasn't high on my to-do list. 

2) I tricked myself into thinking God said I could marry my husband. As plausible as this sounds for the religious people reading, I prayed about it every day afterwards and even on the day of my wedding, pleading for a sign to know whether or not this was the right thing. I had gut feelings of nervousness, but I needed something more, something more tangible that could be linked to heavenly intervention and not 'I've got a bad feeling about this' that comes because I'm a commitment-phobe.

In this scenario, God exists, but did not care about me making the biggest mistake of my life, and so did not intervene, which would mean I didn't want to worship Him or listen to anything He had to say since He didn't care about me or my life.

3) God does not exist and I had lived a lie my entire life, especially trusting my future to gut feelings and random bursts of synapses.

This one sucks because who wants to find out there isn't an all-knowing Being Who loves them and watches out for them daily? I was raised to believe I was a Child of God, a god in miniature, a growing god, and to find out I was just a meaningless human with a meaningless life and the good/bad in the world were relative? Horrifying.

My friend saw me struggling (read: having a panic attack) and offered to give me a comfort blessing. A comfort blessing in LDS terms is when a priesthood holder (male) asks for inspiration on the part of the person they are blessing. I accepted, thinking it could only help the matter. In the comfort blessing, he said that God loved me and was aware of my trials and they had not gone unnoticed. I would find love and affection in unexpected places and I should look to the future with hope, not fear.

A lot of other stuff was said, but the thing that hit me hardest was when it said I had to fix my relationship with Heavenly Father by approaching Him through Jesus Christ. At first, I was confused because I thought I did that by ending my prayers in His name, but as I thought about it, I realized it meant that I had to develop a relationship with Christ in order to further my relationship with my Heavenly Father. I had never considered this before. Growing up, Christ was someone Who suffered, bled, and died for us, but we didn't necessarily pray to Him, and people were always saying vague things like, 'Give your burden and sins to Christ!' but as a person who can't imagine things (seriously, can't think of what my son or husband or even best friend looks like right now) I have no idea what that means. I can't picture what my face looks like, let alone handing my burden to someone I've never seen an actual picture of.

So I decided to do research. I went to church and listened to the talks, actually listened, and a woman said if we actually trusted our Heavenly Father, we would do what He says without complaining because we would have faith that He knows better than us. Ok, definitely not something I do. I'm more a grudgingly-do-something-until-I-see-the-benefits type of person. I'll follow orders, but I'm not going to skip while doing it unless I see the reason. While driving home, a phrase stuck in my head, 'Deny yourself of all Ungodliness' and I decided to research the topic when I got home. You can't exactly type those things into Google, so I looked on lds.org for help. It pulled up a lot of talks, but I only read the first 3. I can't remember which one is which right now, but I remember two of them talked about how this life is not meant to bestow happiness, but everlasting joy. Happiness is something temporary, like eating Nutella or taking a hot shower. Everlasting joy can ONLY come from following the Gospel of Jesus Christ to death.

Another interesting concept was that Christ was always the Master of Himself. Even when He was throwing the money lenders out of the temple, He was in control of His anger. There was no hormonal function that was stronger than His will power. I instantly thought of my crazy hormones and how randy I'd be for basically the entire day, every day, for 20 years. I don't say this lightly, I was literally consumed by sex and it touched EVERY corner of my life. I was constantly holding myself back and forcing myself to play innocent when guys would make dirty jokes because I didn't want to admit I understood what they meant and could make a better one. I don't remember much about high school because the classes were so easy, I spent basically the whole time thinking about sex. It's where my mind went, and if it didn't go there, I was so bored, I fell asleep. I don't think any of the people who told me how lucky my husband would be realized how deep I was in it. I think they thought, 'How sweet! She actually thinks she wants sex.' when really it was, 'AHHH!!! She's a sex monster! Hide your sons!'. But really. At this point, I had been praying for over 18 years for some kind of control over my hormones. Different spurts of reading scriptures, trying to pay attention in church, go to the temple, fervent prayer when the temptations overwhelmed me, I felt I had turned over every stone looking for Heavenly help in the self-control department, but it had never happened. I had never been strong enough and, for some reason, I had never had Heavenly help in suppressing those urges, and had given up trying. Mostly I kept it from getting out of hand, but otherwise I let the monster do its thing. The revelation of control hit me harder this time and I craved it... I can't really say more because I'd be in tears (specifically thinking of when I was 12, but it happened multiple times a year) begging for release from this darkness... so while I can't say I craved it more, I can say I started wanting to control myself completely again. 

I prayed about it and Heavenly Father basically said that He had never given me the end goal of marriage and that was the folly of others who were trying to get me to keep the law of chastity longer. Instead, my battle was similar to an addict where it was a struggle for the rest of their life. I've compared it to a lot of things when explaining this to others, but I'm going to go with the hopefully inoffensive smoker analogy. A smoker can do what they do and clean up all signs so others don't know about their addiction. They can be as secret as they want to about it. It's easy to start, but it's so hard to quit, as many addicts will tell you. Even if they become successful, the smell of something burning will set them off for the rest of their life, even the secondhand smoke becomes something they have to avoid. Heavenly Father has promised that all wrongs will be rectified in Heaven and the spirit that possesses our body upon death will possess our body in the next life.

This means a smoker who still smokes will still have cravings for it, even if they don't have a body anymore because their soul is conditioned to seek that comfort, even if it does nothing for the soul. They've gotten into the habit of addiction and those things are a lot harder to kick without the body dulling the spiritual pains. For me, the addiction I have is sex. It's so bad, I can't have a normal sexual relationship with anybody and I have struggled to find meaningful relationships with others that don't have a drop of sexual tension. This is really hard, especially when the other person is a guy. I've tried, and it's not impossible, just really hard since that's where my brain is conditioned to go first. HOWEVER, there is hope for me. If I spend the rest of my life fighting my natural urges, I won't have to deal with it when I die.

Might sound like, 'Ugh, that's too bad! I'm so sorry for you! What a drag!' but really, I was relieved to have a deadline at all. At first, it was like I had finished running a race, crossed the finish line, everything I was supposed to do, all the boxes ticked, where's my trophy? But the trophy never comes and I have to keep on running. Instead of being able to concentrate on running, I'm looking around wondering where the heck my prize is. I crossed the finish line, didn't I? I was promised a trophy and to be able to stop running, I went through the tape, so why am I still moving? The answer is because I just passed a milestone, not the actual finish line like everyone said. I'm not alone, not unloved, not forgotten, not ignored, not irredeemably sinful, I'm just not done yet. With that in mind, I can focus on the race and on the running, not on the supposed prize I missed out on.

My husband, snuggle-bug and asexual as can be, is the perfect spouse for me. Part of one of the talks mentioned how marriage isn't supposed to be easy, and your spouse is supposed to make you better. Most people are better because they love their spouse so much, they want to be better for them. They push each other to be better. I think, in my case, that me and my spouse are together specifically because we don't take each other's crap. My husband doesn't let me push him into sex and I don't let him push me around with his abuse. If he was with a stereotypical girl, he'd walk all over them or they'd get a divorce. Either way, he's not getting better, so he's not learning Christlike control. If I was with a stereotypical boy, he would either keep up with my libido (HA!) or never admit he found me exhausting because it hurt his manly pride. Either way, I'm not learning to control myself because my husband would indulge whatever drive I threw at him. I could never have been like Christ if I had married anyone else. I was specifically put with my husband, not to experience temporary happiness in marriage, but to finally learn to control my urges and control myself while I was at it, to become as Christlike as I can. This might sound sad, but bearing in mind that earthly existence is only a few seconds in the eyes of God, how bad is it really? Sure, temporarily sad I didn't marry my best friend, but on a grader scale, we're both going to be SO MUCH BETTER by the time this is all over. My marriage is my personal refiner's fire tailored to make me as exquisite as I am meant to be. I can either take this change for perfection, or moan about how we don't communicate effectively. I can have a conversation with most people, but most people can't push me to change the way my husband does. Most people think I'm pretty awesome the way I am, but my husband sees ALL my flaws and doesn't let me get away with any of them, which is pretty great if your eventual goal is perfection and life eternal, which mine is.

The third and final piece to this puzzle is Jesus Christ and His Atonement. Obviously repentance is a huge part of this, and I'm not saying it's unimportant, but I know a lot about it already and how it's supposed to work, the steps, most everything. I don't know exactly everything, but having been a lifelong member, plus a missionary, plus reading Jesus the Christ about 15 times on my mission, I have a pretty good idea about sin exchange. The point is that I had never considered cultivating an actual relationship with Him. I thought He was always listening over Heavenly Father's shoulder, that I didn't have to talk to Him in order to be heard by Him, and the Old Testament is always going on about how God is a jealous god and we can't pray to anyone else over Him, so Christ was someone I invoked at the end of prayers, but otherwise unattainable for a relationship, like Heavenly Father was standing in the gates of heaven and communication to the other side had to go through Him. So, after asking a lot of people their opinions about how not to offend God, I prayed to Christ. I called Him 'Brother' throughout the prayer because it felt awkward to say His name every 3 seconds when I wanted to address Him and also a little bit like swearing. That first prayer was amazing. I told Him I couldn't take this sexual energy and tension anymore and He had to take it because it was killing me and the relief I felt was instantaneous, like a bolt of lightning hit me and all the sex just melted away. I still haven't found a satisfactory and natural way to end my prayers to Him yet because it feels weird to talk to Someone, then end in Their name, like...He already knows I'm talking to Him... but I go with it since that's the form of prayer I was taught and I haven't come up with a better one yet.

So there we go, start of my spiritual journey, the beginning of the beginning, the moment I realized I had to die to experience peace, but that didn't mean I couldn't strive for it. Some people would look at it as a tragedy that I couldn't be married to my best friend and my husband and I joke we have an 'arranged marriage' that neither of us wanted in the first place. Kind of horrible if you've been brought up in a culture of 'love marriages' but for us, it's our reality and something that happened and couldn't be helped without offending the powers that be. So we're both going to do our best in this life and if we happen to fall in love along the way, awesome, and if not, we'll both be perfect at the end so we get our pick from the cream of the crop. The priesthood 'binds on Earth and in Heaven' but there are temple divorces and although they're not ideal, I don't think God will force me to stay married to my fire if we don't work out. So either we fall in love or not, but either way I end up perfect, so it's a win-win for me.

I still feel like this explanation won't work for some people out there... people who look at me with pity in their eyes that I don't have this magical and epic love connection with my husband and all I can say is people went through arranged marriages ALL THE TIME in the OT, NT, and probably in the BOM too. Marriage is rarely about starting from love and more about coming from similar backgrounds so you can raise the kid in the same faith and starting from a place where having a family is plausible. It's romantic to marry for love, and I'm not knocking those marriages that have that. I think it's beautiful and amazing and wonderful that you have something like that. I can't personally be jealous though because my husband is a good man and I can grow from our relationship. I have learned so much about myself with him that I couldn't have learned with someone else. I have always been very comfortable in my identity (most parts of it) and unwilling to change. If someone had a problem with me, I just didn't talk to them anymore because they obviously weren't ready to deal with me. That's who I was. Now, I'm much more flexible. I'm looking to God for more answers. I thought I had all the answers, I had a plan, I had life figured out, and I didn't go into uncomfortable situations willingly. Now I'm married to an uncomfortable situation, and I'm growing! I'm growing so much, and it's forcing me closer to my Heavenly Father and it's amazing that He trusts me enough to put me in this situation when I could easily have decided to claim atheism, gone with the easy divorce, and married someone more... congenial.

This is a trial and I'm grateful to have it. It's hard and there will be times when I want it to end, but for now, I can see the end goal, I can see what He sees, for a brief moment, and it's a perfect me. A me in control, a Christlike me, a me that doesn't struggle to have a normal conversation with someone that doesn't involve genitals. That is my future, if I am brave enough and strong enough to seize it and it's thanks to my Father in Heaven, Who trusts me when I really feel like He should know better by now. Eventually, He pulls me through.

I hope this helped some of you who are struggling, maybe even with the same thing. If not, it was cathartic to get it out there and who knows? Maybe one of you is in a sexless marriage and feels abandoned by God and cheated out of a promise. Maybe this will inspire you to give Him one last chance. I promise He's listening, even to the weird things.