I’d bet my life on you

I grasped the metal bar to keep my balance and avoid taking in all of the blood pooling around my feet, running down my legs, and splattered all over my hospital gown. She gently said, “it’s ok, lower yourself down, I’ve got you.” She guided me step by step of cleaning myself, using the bathroom, and tending to the the most sensitive and private parts of my body. I was exhausted, afraid, and slightly embarrassed. She was calm, reassuring, and patient. She cleaned up every pool and drop of blood without hesitation or grimace. Her name is Kim. She was my labor and delivery nurse when I had my most recent baby. And she cared for me in my most vulnerable first moments after delivering my son. 

Recently, a GOP senator made an off-handed comment about nurses spending most of their day playing cards. The internet ran with it. Memes. Tweets. Social media posts. It blew up because it couldn’t be more off the mark. 

I keep thinking about Kim and what she gave to me in the 6 hours she cared for me, barely leaving my side. And she wasn’t the only one. My baby came fast, with little warning. A dozen medical professionals rushed in the room and enthusiastically, lovingly helped my baby into the world. I don’t know what they were doing 5 minutes before my baby crowned unexpectedly. And I don’t care. They showed up with the energy, knowledge, and focus to care for my family. 

Nurses work tremendously long hours, sometimes assisting with planned medical procedures, sometimes waiting for the unexpected to happen, because it will. This can mean hours without using the bathroom or eating or checking in with their families. Not only can the hours be long but they are required to fully give their physical, cognitive, and emotional all with every patient. And they do. 

I was completely dependent on Kim and she was completely present with me. I hope she got a long break and did something that relaxed her when I left her unit because she likely had to do it all again with another patient and she would fully show up for them too like she did with me. 

We see you, nurses. We recognize the physical and emotional sacrifices you make every day. We know the toll it takes on you. And we are so grateful. So go ahead and play some cards if you get a chance. I’m guessing you won’t but I’d bet my life on you any day. 

If you're confused, you're probably seeing it clearly

We have an innate desire for things to fit into place, to make sense, to feel complete and absolute. So much so, that our brains naturally filter or overlook conflicting information and seek validating information (see "confirmation bias") and we want to be right so we do our best to see things that way. When we don't have all of the information, our brains fill in the gaps for us (see Banaji and Greenwald's "Blind Spot: Hidden Biases of Good People"). Those gaps aren't filled by the conflicting ideas but rather space holders consistent with our existing mind-set.

These are well-known characteristics of how the brain works and smart people (advertisers, politicians, etc.) use it to their advantage. They play on what we already believe to be true and often tell us what we want to hear. This presents a challenge for us attempting to move through the world as conscious objective thinkers as it is impossible to ever fully understand absolute truth - every idea and situation is skewed by our unique perspective and interpretation. So when something doesn't seem quite right or we are confused, rather than something actually being amiss, it is likely that we are seeing things more clearly and it simply doesn't fit into our skewed framework. Therefore, we need to question everything and invite the unfamiliar.

While it may feel unfamiliar, our feelings of disequilibrium mean we are increasingly closer to internalizing new information. But at first, it can feel a little unsettling - to take information we already believe to be true, experience new information that conflicts, and try to make it all fit together. It's uncomfortable at first, and that's okay. Progress often feels a lot like discomfort.

Where in your life are you encountering conflicting information? Understanding the current political climate? Confronting your biases? Spend a little time in that discomfort.  If you feel a little uneasy or a little confused, you're probably just seeing it clearly.

It's not cute

I'm going to make the assumption that most of us, from time to time, consider the impact technology and screens have had on our lives. The impact on our health, on our relationships, how we use our time, and so on. It is tremendously convenient and has increased our access to knowledge, our ability to do things quickly and multitask and for many, it has had a general positive impact. As a parent, if you haven't personally considered the impact on your children, the necessity of consideration has probably been thrust at you either via social media, from your pediatrician, or from school. Children need to have some basic understanding of how to use technology but you've probably also gotten some pressure about how much screen time they have the nature of the content.
This post isn't about so much about children's limits on screen time or the content they are exposed to but more about an altered perspective of children because of technology. I'm going to warn you, it's not cute.

It's not cute. When you use filters on your children (or yourself for that matter, but let's stick to the topic at hand). When you use a filter to take pictures of your children, you are altering their reality, they way they look, the way they see themselves. It is often meant to be playful but it is creating the perception that we aren't [cute, polished, sparkly, funny, pretty, perfect] enough as we are - and we should hide behind a mask. I recently saw a friend's post of her children cooking - and she put a bunny filter on it. Why? It completely distracts from who your child is and what they are doing. The bunny ears became more noticeable [more important] than the child.

It's not cute. When you shame your child on social media. Those little children you have now are going to grow up and be adults - who deserve to have some say in how much of their life is public, to have some privacy in their formative years, and to be allowed a separate identity from your filter of shame. There are many things that happen in childhood that are meant to stay in the privacy of the relationship between the child and the caregiver - as it is our responsibility to help them grow, protect them, and not embarrass them. (Everyone pooped in the bathtub as a baby. Yup, you too. But aren't you glad you aren't tagged in that picture for the world to see?) If you want to post something about your child, ask. If they are too young to understand the question, just send the pic in a text to your mom, she'll love it - probably because you did the same hilarious thing as a kid. This goes for naughty, embarrassing, outstanding, or brave behaviors - essentially all behaviors. Remember, if children can't trust what you'll do with information, they'll stop bringing it to you.

It's not cute. When you post pictures of your child watching TV. It is certainly very challenging to capture a sweet picture of your child as they are always in motion and you're likely in motion trying to keep up with them. And if you have two children? Trying to get them in a picture together, cute, and not in a blur of motion is nearly impossible. So of course, when you finally exhale and they sit still for a moment, it's tempting to capture that sweet moment of youth that is so fleeting. But pause for a second. When you truly think about your child, is it the moment that they are spaced out to a glowing box when you really love them the most? Does it capture who they are? Does it share their magic with the world? Or are you merely documenting the easy mesmorization that comes when a TV is turned on? What are you conveying to the world when all we see is the vacancy in your child's eyes when they are lulled into the passive act of watching TV? Post the blur - that's where the magic of childhood is.

Technology, screens, and social media have allowed use to do some pretty amazing things. Be mindful that it doesn't alter, distract from, or hide what is already pretty amazing.

I will lie to you

Following the birth of my first son, I had postpartum depression for several weeks. I knew that this could happen. I knew that I was supposed to ask for help. I knew I needed help. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell my husband. I couldn't tell my friends. And I couldn't tell my doctor. I lied to everyone.

I'm not sure what I expected postpartum to be like but here's how it was for me: I held everything together. I showered and completed everyday tasks. I went back to work at 6 weeks. I had no inclination to hurt myself or my son. But in private, I was falling apart and had no control over my emotions or my incessant dark state of mind. I knew it was irrational. I knew I was not okay. But I absolutely couldn't tell anyone about it. Every time I tried to talk about it I froze. As it began to subside, I was slowly able to talk about it with my husband but even months later, there were very few people I could open up to about it. Years later, I could talk freely about it in one-on-one conversations. Which became very important as my husband and I decided to try for another child. There are six years between our two children and my postpartum depression was a very big reason for this. The biggest reason, really. What if it was worse? What if I didn't get better? What if this time is different and I had an inclination to hurt myself or our baby? I ask these questions every day as I am 2 weeks out from delivering baby #2.

Postpartum depression likely isn't any more common now that it was six years ago. It appears to be talked about more in public spaces and certainly talked about more in my personal circles. I very intentionally bring it up all the time. I want people to know that there is a chance this could happen to me again. And that again I will likely be too paralyzed to do what I know I should to get help. I asked three people in my life to check in on me: my husband, a local friend of 15 years, and an out-of-state friend of 4 years. I anticipate the out-of-state friend being pivotal for a couple of reasons - we've become extremely good friends in the past few years but he's not personally involved in my day to day well-being so he'll have a zoomed out, bird's eye view of what's going on with me and he has experience with people dealing with depression and anxiety. So I asked him to check in on me. I gave him permission to check in my with husband and friend so they could compare observations and figure out how to help me if I need it. And then I had to explain that I would most likely lie to him. When he asks if I'm okay, I will lie. When he asks if I need help, I will lie. When he asks if I'm being honest about how I'm feeling with my husband, I will lie. This was hard because I've never had to give someone a warning that I was going to betray them - and trust that they will forgive me. But he listened and he understood and he committed to checking on me in the weeks and months following the birth of my baby.

Several months after my initial ask, out of the blue, he asked if I had ever lied to him. I didn't make the connection between the two conversations and was taken aback that he would challenge our friendship in that way. My mind raced through personal, minuscule omissions I kept from him and slight exaggerations I had made about useless life details like how I slept on this night or that night. And then he reminded me of our conversation and rephrased the question, asking what it'll be like when I lie to him and how he'll know. This was a surprisingly difficult question to answer. I'm a really good liar. I once read an article that children from "broken homes" are the best liars because their formative years occurred through a time of hiding feelings/actions at home to keep the peace and hiding feelings/actions in public to avoid shame and embarrassment. I pride myself on being an extremely honest person but that is an active choice. Of anything, lying about my feelings is one of my most refined abilities. I explained this and that he very likely would not know.

I'm trusting him to know me well enough to know if my tone is off, if my responses are too aloof or dismissive or shallow. I really can't offer any guidance for how to tell when I'm lying about depression except that it will almost inevitably happen. So instead, I said this: "I'm asking you now, in my clear state of mind: I will need your help. I won't be able to ask for it. And when you ask if I need help, I will lie to you. And I hope you help me anyway. And when I'm better, I hope you can forgive me."

Neither of us is wrong

This morning I was standing in one spot, making my lunch. My 6 yo was playing hockey through the kitchen (as one does at 6:45am) and repeatedly hit my feet with the hockey puck. He finally said "Mom, why do you keep stopping the puck?!" and I replied, "Do you mean, why do you keep hitting it directly at the exact spot I happen to be standing?!" He tilted his head to the side and said, "well... neither of us is wrong."

What he said is true. It's just a matter of perspective. But if neither of us is wrong, are we both right?

We are confronted with this daily. We often get stuck on our own perspective with a steadfast belief that we are right. This is often tied to a dichotomous assumption that the other person is therefore wrong. But the other person has this same attitude - about their own perspective being right and ours being therefore wrong. The reality is that both perspectives are right because they belong to the person viewing them. But it's an interpretation based on a limited perspective. It's not ultimate truth. And ultimate truth doesn't really matter because both people are emotionally connected and attached to their unique perspective.

So what can we do?

First, recognize that our perspective is just that - ours. Which means no one else shares it exactly.
Second, do our best to articulate our unique perspective without accusations or exaggeration.
Third, invite the other person to articulate their perspective - and do your best to listen without trying to apply your perspective to their lens.
Fourth, revisit your perspective - has it shifted with any new information?

At the very least, before you get too stuck on your perspective being right, remember the wise declaration of my 6yo: neither of you are wrong. Starting there might help you see that you are indeed not being hit by what's coming at you, you are merely in the way and stopping the forward momentum of what's happening around you.

Because it mattered

I have many strengths and qualities that I'm proud of and have contributed to my success as a writer, as a parent, as an educator. However, getting over difficulty and strong emotions is not one of them. I regularly mourn lost relationships - romantic as well as fizzled friendships. I miss my freedom in college. I miss school. I miss being a kid and being with my family. I even miss struggling when money was tight.

My experiences practicing Zen Buddhism inform my awareness that this is due to attachment - the source of all suffering. I attach easily to feelings of love and being valued with an intense desire for feelings and people to stay exactly as they are. Despite that desire, the reality is everything and everyone is changing all the time.

Part of my Zen Buddhist practice, is regularly reading, reciting, and embracing the Five Remembrances (Thich Naht Hanh):

"I am of the nature to grow old; there is no way to escape growing old.
I am of the nature to have ill health; there is no way to escape ill health.
I am of the nature to die; there is no way to escape death.
All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change; there is no way to escape being separated from them.
My actions are my only true belongings; I cannot escape the consequence of my actions; my actions are the ground on which I stand."

Sometimes this helps and sometimes it doesn't but I've come to accept that my longing for previous relationships and experiences is indicative of the influence they've had on my life. The moments that linger in my mind were powerful, emotional, and impacted the trajectory of my life.
And sometimes when those really special, powerful moments of my life are over, it hurts a little. Sometimes it hurts a lot. The magnitude of loss is comparable to the depth of the value of that moment. It hurts because it mattered.

Outlet or Outlet Cover?

Eight months ago, my partner and I were enthusiastic to learn that we were expecting a second child! After losing a child through miscarriage the previous year, we were overjoyed. And anxious. We wanted this baby so much but it was hard to let ourselves feel excited. And for me personally, I was ill-equipped to handle the complicated emotions that come with early pregnancy that following a loss. Anxiety and depression are regular players in this act of my life and they took front and center roles over the last year; specifically anxiety, stole the spotlight as we awaited the passing of the “danger zone” first trimester. And while I wanted this baby more than anything I’ve ever wanted, I entered a place of  necessary abandon of my usual coping strategies – specifically drinking alcohol and running – leaving me alone with my thoughts, feelings, insecurities, and anxieties.

In addition to dealing with worry over the health and well-being of our unborn child, I also had to come face-to-face with the everyday stress of life - paying bills, dealing with challenges at work, driving in bad weather and so on. The kinds of things that would usually accumulate and I would turn to running or drinking to relax and regain control of my emotions. Prior to this pregnancy, I accepted those as outlets for processing stress and difficult emotions. But now without either of my two go-to strategies, it became quite clear that I didn't actually know how to deal with discomfort and overwhelming feelings. These go-to's weren't outlets, they were outlet covers. The merely allowed me to avoid dealing with what needed to be dealt with. This initially resulted in being short-fused, losing sleep, and a general impatience for typical inconveniences. And I felt disappointed in my lack of ability to handle these things without a crutch. I didn't have a plan for working through this but I talked to people I trusted, I named my emotions, I focused on what I could control, and I wrote about my feelings. This didn't ease my desire to go for a run or to have a drink but it did help to process the uncomfortable feelings and reduce their impact until they subsided. 

But I know this time without running or drinking is temporary. We have four weeks until we meet our new little one and assuming goes well for me and the baby, questions remain: after the baby is born, where does that leave me with my cast of difficult emotions? How quickly will I retreat into the compulsion to chase away difficulty? Have I learned to separate outlets from outlet covers?