The Dark Side of Pregnancy

I knew on Friday. But I waited in a fog of dread until Sunday to slowly walk into a dollar store, buy a Twix and a pregnancy test.

We had just moved cross country AGAIN from Texas to Washington.

I was taking online classes in an effort to finally get a bachelor's degree.

I had bought a starter kit for a jewelry company to start a small business.

The apartment was full of boxes and no furniture.

I had so many plans, exciting plans. Connecting back with moms from before, picking up community where we left it. Excited for soccer and preschool activities for my 3 year old. Relieved to finally have a place that was HOME.

I peed on the stick at home. I walked up behind my husband watching TV and handed him the Twix. He said "Thanks!"; then I wordlessly handed him the positive pregnancy test.

"What's this mean?" he asked, a little fear creeping into his voice.

"I'm pregnant" I heard my monotone voice say.

I stopped taking my anxiety medication on Friday, because I knew then. It's not supposed to create dependency, this magical medication I was taking. You're supposed to drop it cold without any problem. Maybe that's how pathetic I am, I think, that this little help I was getting is so important that I can't live without it. More likely the ensuing depression was a result of hormones and circumstances.

I felt so sick. I wanted to stay horizontal 24/7. Curtis worked from home during the day, so I had to "watch" Elwin. I'd move from the bed to the couch. TV was the great babysitter. Elwin was free to pull out whatever he wanted and play with whatever he wanted. I never cleaned anything up. I did everything halfway, because I couldn't care less or because I'd begin to feel sick and need to lay back down. Apples halfway cut left on the counter. Frozen food left out.

Sleep. I only wanted to sleep or just close my eyes and lay still. I threw up often. I had aversions to so many foods and they changed daily. I pulled over constantly when driving to throw up. I didn't want to do anything. I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't want to talk. I wanted to curl into a ball and wait for it all to be over.

Curtis grew frustrated. Why wasn't I even trying? How could I be fine, pee on a stick, and suddenly be sick all the time? He wasn't used to being around Elwin all the time, wasn't used to those jokes moms all make about having a toddler...like hiding in the bathroom just to eat something in peace. Elwin would constantly interrupt him while working. He'd tell me to get up and parent. I'd feel myself grow numb, absorbing.

He's right, I'd tell myself. I'm the worst mother. Why am I bringing another kid around. I'm a worse wife. My husband is going to leave me, find someone better to marry and then she will adopt Elwin. They'll have each other and I'll die. That's how things should be.

One night I lay in bed by myself and considered abortion. I thought maybe I could still take a plan B pill. Or just say I'm going on an errand and go to a clinic somewhere. I'd tell everyone I had a miscarriage. It felt like something I needed to do. It made sense.

I felt the weight of all the things I needed to do but couldn't. Elwin was watching TV all day long and begging me to play or take him to the park. I was snapping at him more than I ever had. Nothing about our apt felt like a home. I didn't want anyone to see it. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see anything. I didn't want to be anything.

I told myself I could have another C-section...in and out in an hour. No labor. No pain. I promised we would sew up the tubes in the process so this could never happen again. I clung to that with everything I had in me. My only hope.

12 weeks came and went. Still sick. Still so tired. How long would this last?

Slowly, I began to have a little more energy. I felt motivated to organize one section of the apt at a time. I began to have ideas for the space, things we could hang on the walls, this piece of furniture over here. I started cleaning although I often stopped long before done because of exhaustion or sickness. I switched from working nights to mornings. Curtis switched from mornings to nights. I was able to go to bed early almost every night. The fog began to dissipate. Life seemed less dismal. There seemed reason to not just live another day but plan for the future.

Not everyone has an enjoyable pregnancy. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. And those of us with mental health issues, or those that develop mental health issues during pregnancy, we're the ones who suffer in silence. I wonder how many women who get abortions feel like I did the first 4 months of my pregnancy? We could all do with compassion and empathy training when it comes to mental health issues. No one did or said the wrong thing to me. I don't have any shocking anecdotes. But I can't help thinking about how easy it was to fade into the background, how easily I could have had an abortion and lied about it. How easy is it for me to not ask the deeper questions when I'm talking to someone? Questions that ask you to share that vulnerable part of ourselves where depression lives.

I decided earlier this year (or maybe last year, who can remember details) that I was going to stop living in fear of what someone might think, how they might respond. I decided to stop being anxious about them not know how to deal with me or my shit. I saw the depth of fear in my soul and I said "no thank you." I relapsed, obviously, but I want to get back on track. I want us talking about mental health issues. I want to be able to share the hopelessness of wanting an abortion and not worry about shocking someone's conservative sensibilities. I never want to hear someone say "well, I don't know about medication" because of the stigma connected with mental health medication. I want to be well. I want us all to be well. For that to happen, we have to talk about it. I have to talk about it.

Not a Conservative

I'm tired of constant shame. Constantly analyzing myself, my thoughts, my actions in order to pinpoint the very instance of wrongness and slam it down with a hammer. Self-aware for every second, anticipating other's actions or reactions and scripting out my corresponding responses in order to ALWAYS do the right thing. Noting when anyone complained about any kind of behavior so that no one could ever have a complaint about me. Living life like a robot, a terrified robot.

I'm tired of fear and anxiety. Desperate to know people's opinions of me, relieved when it's positive and devastated when not. Feeling the need to be in control at all times of all things so everything goes as planned. Constant expectations always miles ahead of where I can realistically limp to in a day yet I never think to bring them closer.

I'm tired of caring about every little thing like it's the straw breaking the camel's back. One small setback, one tiny decision by someone else somehow always seems like the batting of a butterfly's wing that will destroy my entire world.

It could be argued that this is a result of my own biological makeup, my psychological coping for my own experiences; that what I describe as the past 26 years of my life can't be tied to conservatism.

It could be argued.

I won't deny my DNA, my parentage, my family all have an impact on who I am today and the 27 years of life that got me here. I won't deny that there are bound to be conservatives who don't feel the weight of shame, fear, anxiety, or judgement.

Regardless, I can't keep up with the conservative movement. Whether conservatism created these issues or just touches on wounds that have not yet healed, I am done chasing the rabbits. I can't keep up with who we are supposed to boycott today or who is destroying the institute of marriage tomorrow. I can't continue to support BAD conservative movies just because they give a picture perfect American dream style view of what a good conservative family does. Or because it talks about prayer. I can't blanket-ly say that anything "liberal" is bad or anything supported by a Democrat needs to be fought.

I don't have the time or energy to care whether someone else was born with a penis and wants a vagina or whether two people with vaginas want to get married. I can't rally support around a business owner who believes their specific religious belief is too important to provide an employee with birth control or allow someone who believes differently to buy their product or service.

I can't continue to be a part of so much judgement, in every aspect of someone's life. I can't continue to ask women "well, what were you wearing?" while demanding ridiculous amounts of proof to even begin to believe a man has not been faithful. I can't be blind to white privilege and believe that "America can be great again". Because what I believe makes America great is not our military strength forcing other countries to bow to us or our disgusting self-righteous white picket fence American dream dysfunctional hypocritical whiney ass whitewashed families.

I'm done. Can you tell? I stopped drinking the koolaid a long time ago and I think it's finally out of my system.

I'm ready to accept people as they are without expecting them to fit some arbitrary mold. White, black, and all the shades in between. Tall, short, large or small. I'm not going to tell you that you aren't enough of this or you are too much of that. Even if we don't agree. You are still you, and that person is wonderful. I don't have to agree with you or even LIKE you to see that you have value, that you love and are loved.

And I am MORE than ready to lift women up out of the shit we've been trudging through. MORE THAN READY. I'm done letting us quietly sit where we think we belong because we believe the shit spoken to us, about us, or over us. Like the great Beyonce says in Freedom from her latest album Lemonade, "I break chains all by myself, won't let my freedom rot in hell. Hey, I'ma keep running cuz a winner don't quit on themselves."

(If you haven't at least LISTENED to Lemonade, stop what you are doing and go. Get a Tidal subscription it's so much better than Spotify anyway. Then, set aside a couple hours of your time and watch the visual album. It's an hour long but trust me you will want another hour or longer to process. Or keep pausing it so you can freak out for a second.)

Personally, I'm done with the chains.

Freedom! Freedom! I can't move  

Freedom, cut me loose!

Freedom! Freedom! Where are you? 

Cause I need freedom too! 

I break chains all by myself 

Won't let my freedom rot in hell 

Hey! I'ma keep running 

Cause a winner don't quit on themselves

Why I Gladly Put My Foot In My Mouth...You're Welcome

You might say I'm an opinionated person. You could say I am loud and always have to put my two cents into a conversation. And you might also say I have trolled quite a few internet conversations.

And you'd be one million percent correct.

Ever since my first foray onto the internet many years ago in message boards and chat rooms, I have been quick to let my opinion fly. As I've grown older, I (hopefully) have grown wiser and usually respond less harshly, less accusatory, and less maliciously then I did in my tween/teen years. I don't hold any opinion half-heartedly, but I have learned that opinions aren't truths, that it's ok for others to have different opinions, and that forcing someone to accept or change to my opinion is oppressive.

There was a time in my life when I believed I should just shut up. I was mortally embarrassed by my previous online freak outs, and I really doubted that my voice mattered. I thought "No one is listening to me, so why say anything." I battled this personally and online...my beliefs told me that I mattered but my experience told me otherwise. And honestly, a lot of religious contexts told me otherwise.

It seems that women are supposed to be perfectly prim and proper, servants to everyone, talking in whispers, and operating in the background. Try as I might, I couldn't fit in this mold. A part of me wants to be this silently strong woman, and I envy the women I know who are naturally like Mother Teresa.

I'm not perfect. I'm a great big mess lately. I think a lot, and am pretty certain I'm always right. I resist every authority figure, and my mantra is "I do what I want" (ok, be honest...EVERYONE does what they want. Even what you "don't want" to do, you actually want to. You don't want to take out the trash, but you do because you want to have a clean house. See, you wanted to take out the trash.) I grow frustrated with my son daily, and I'm not always nice to other people.  I want to be liked TOO MUCH and I battle a constant compulsion to be anything but myself.

I'm done nailing fruit to a dead tree. I am not this perfect woman and I'm done pretending I am! I am a work in progress, enjoy the show.

So I post about controversial topics. I question other people when their position doesn't make sense to me. I weep about the state of our culture and sometimes I get angry at ignorance.

And I do this all online. While I am learning how to communicate effectively, to speak words that bring life, and speak truth...while I do this, I continue to speak up. I continue to speak out. And when I make mistakes, as I do all the time, I practice humility. I learn again how to put my own pride aside, admit that I was wrong, and heal a wound that I created. Each experience motivates me to think longer about my words before hitting "send". Each apology reminds me that being right isn't the end game. Each embarrassment signals that I am not a fountain of wisdom and knowledge.

Most importantly, I never delete this encounters. Sometimes they are private, most of the time they are out there in the public view. I never want to clean up my online presence to make myself look better. I would never want someone to come across my Facebook and think I've got it all together when I don't. I want to be messy. I want you to know me, as I really am.

Over the past year-ish I've seen 2 major celebrity pastors go down in flames over scandals. One did so pridefully, never admitting to anything, and protecting his butt while he let his church die. The other admitted his sins and stepped down from his church to work out issues at home, leaving his church able to thrive without him. 

It occurred to me that there aren't many examples of leaders who humbly admit faults and do the leg work to change or fix what they broke. There especially aren't many examples of this inside the Church, where it really should be the norm. I'm not much of a leader, since I have no one following me, but I'll gladly learn in the public eye in the hopes that someone else learns with me.

So I won't be quiet. I won't wait until I have achieved a grand level of wisdom to speak. I won't pretend like I am always right and I won't surround myself with only those that agree with me. I won't shy away from conflict and I won't always have an answer. I won't fit into safe little categories and I won't assume my position because of political, religious, or social affiliations. I won't agree with something simply because the majority does and I won't tune out people I don't understand.

I will seek to be uncomfortable. I will talk about everything. I will apologize often, genuinely, and sincerely. I will cry often. I will be hurt by things others say, I will be frustrated when I am misunderstood or when I misunderstand others. I will want to make everyone agree with me, and I will hate having to apologize for an argument I think someone else started.

But I will also listen. I will consider other views. I will ask for clarification, so I can completely understand. I will put myself in others shoes. I will stretch my intelligence and my empathy to the edges of my sanity. I will cry often. I will learn. I will grow.

It will never be easy. But I commit to it because I believe it is so desperately important. 

We as a people, as a generation, as a group need to listen. We need to speak. We need to converse with people we've never met before. We need to live in empathy, sharing experiences with each other. We need to show each other what TRUE love and compassion look like...when we make a mistake, when we speak out of anger or ignorance or we fail to listen then we show love by humbling ourselves. Genuine, true sorrow comes from love. True repentance, reconciliation, and renewal comes from love.

So I won't be quiet, because I love you.