Friday, August 19, 2011
I was so blessed by the response to my last blog post. It felt like a big risk hitting the "publish" button, but it was liberating and I haven't regretted it.
Several people told me that they didn't realize I was having a hard time making the many adjustments to motherhood, and although my post wasn't strictly about those adjustments but more about my own insecurities, it made me think about how these adjustments would have been so much easier if I weren't so self-concious. Of course no one knew what a hard time I was (and sometimes still am) having. I don't tell anyone. Of course, I share things like, "I'm tired," or "You know, it's a big change," or the slightly less vague, "It's amazing how frustrated you can be with a baby in the middle of the night."
I think everyone has an unhealthy way they get validated by people that stems from their secret self-doubts. Two of my biggest insecurities are that I'm stupid and that I'm weak, so it's incredibly important to me that people think I'm intelligent and capable of taking care of everything on my own. Most people who know me would describe me as intelligent and strong... but being smart doesn't mean you have to know everything, and being strong doesn't mean you never need help.
The times I feel most vulnerable are when I'm admitting, "I don't know," or "I can't do it on my own." And anyone who has ever spent any time with a baby knows you spend a lot of time saying these exact things.
It's funny how being pregnant and having a baby somehow make you public property. People touch your pregnant belly and offer up their pregnancy and birth stories. I finally learned to stop people and ask, "Am I going to feel encouraged by this story? No? Then sorry, I don't want to hear it." Carrying around a baby is no different. I've never gone anywhere with Isabella without having multiple strangers stop me to ask about her. Normally it's nice stuff like, "Wow, all that hair!" and "What bright eyes!" Sometimes, though, my response to an inane question (is she sleeping through the night? Is she eating solid food yet? etc.) opens a door for me to receive unsolicited parenting advice.
A few weeks ago a Home Depot employee actually followed me around the store, suggesting that I give Isabella rice cereal before bed because she'll sleep all night. The other day an older lady that goes to my church told me that if Izzy bites while nursing, to flick her foot. ("It just shocks them!") And I can't tell you how many people have suggested some form of "sleep training" to cause my little girl to nap on my schedule and sleep through the night. Well-meaning interluders, the lot of them, but we have informed and specific reasons not to take much of the traditional parenting advice to heart.
I'm realizing though that my problem isn't that people are giving me advice... it's that I feel like it's necessary to tell them why I don't agree with them... essentially, how right I am, how put together I am. It's pride, and that's all there is to it. I could just say, "That's an interesting suggestion, thanks." Or the more direct but still polite, "Thanks, but I'm not sure that method is for me." People really are just trying to be helpful. But instead I shoot people down in order to affirm that I do in fact have my shit together, and I don't need or want your advice.
Motherhood makes you the target of a constant barrage of unsolicited advice... it's not just me. It's like this for everyone. And I need to realize that A) it's no reflection on me personally or my capabilities as a parent, and B) listening politely to someone's suggestions doesn't mean I have to take their advice. Maybe they can go home feeling purposeful because they were a huge help to a new mom, and I can go home and do whatever I intended to do in the first place. And... here's the really scary one: C) Maybe... just maybe... someone out there knows more than I do about this whole baby thing, and I could learn something new if I would just listen once in a while.
It's funny how being pregnant and having a baby somehow make you public property. People touch your pregnant belly and offer up their pregnancy and birth stories. I finally learned to stop people and ask, "Am I going to feel encouraged by this story? No? Then sorry, I don't want to hear it." Carrying around a baby is no different. I've never gone anywhere with Isabella without having multiple strangers stop me to ask about her. Normally it's nice stuff like, "Wow, all that hair!" and "What bright eyes!" Sometimes, though, my response to an inane question (is she sleeping through the night? Is she eating solid food yet? etc.) opens a door for me to receive unsolicited parenting advice.
A few weeks ago a Home Depot employee actually followed me around the store, suggesting that I give Isabella rice cereal before bed because she'll sleep all night. The other day an older lady that goes to my church told me that if Izzy bites while nursing, to flick her foot. ("It just shocks them!") And I can't tell you how many people have suggested some form of "sleep training" to cause my little girl to nap on my schedule and sleep through the night. Well-meaning interluders, the lot of them, but we have informed and specific reasons not to take much of the traditional parenting advice to heart.
I'm realizing though that my problem isn't that people are giving me advice... it's that I feel like it's necessary to tell them why I don't agree with them... essentially, how right I am, how put together I am. It's pride, and that's all there is to it. I could just say, "That's an interesting suggestion, thanks." Or the more direct but still polite, "Thanks, but I'm not sure that method is for me." People really are just trying to be helpful. But instead I shoot people down in order to affirm that I do in fact have my shit together, and I don't need or want your advice.
Motherhood makes you the target of a constant barrage of unsolicited advice... it's not just me. It's like this for everyone. And I need to realize that A) it's no reflection on me personally or my capabilities as a parent, and B) listening politely to someone's suggestions doesn't mean I have to take their advice. Maybe they can go home feeling purposeful because they were a huge help to a new mom, and I can go home and do whatever I intended to do in the first place. And... here's the really scary one: C) Maybe... just maybe... someone out there knows more than I do about this whole baby thing, and I could learn something new if I would just listen once in a while.
Friday, August 12, 2011
The great Mitch Hedberg (may he rest in peace) had a joke about mountain climbing. "I want to climb a mountain- not so I can get to the top- cause I want to hang out at base camp. That seems fun as shit. You sleep in a colorful tent, you grow a beard, you drink hot chocolate, you walk around. People ask you, 'Hey, you goin to the top?' 'Soon.'" (I couldn't find audio of this joke... oh well, enjoy this compilation instead and consider this your warning that while the material is clean Mitch seasons his comedy with plenty of f-bombs.)
I feel like this is how I live my life. Waiting for something to happen. Wasting my time. Making excuses. Missing out. Truthfully, I rarely live in the present moment. I often find myself thinking, "Tomorrow I'll make that change, achieve that goal, deepen that friendship, pursue that dream."
I'm not sure why I'm sitting out on the fringes watching other people live. I think it's because I'm scared. The mountain of life can be a dangerous place. There are real risks involved, like relationships and rejection and failure. Being open, authentic, present, and vulnerable with people... it's just not safe. What if they don't like me? What if I don't fit in? What if people see my weaknesses? What will they think of me? What if I share my heart and they don't care?
In order to preserve myself, I've alienated myself. I don't reach out to people. I don't cultivate relationships very well. I don't share myself unless I'm asked, and even then I give little. I don't ask for help when I need it. As long as I live in this little bubble, I can't get hurt. I watch people who are truly living, who are willing to share their heart and passion, people who are taking risks. I hate watching the real mountaineers setting off up the trail because I'm intimidated by their courage and jealous of their adventure.
Since Isabella was born, I've felt especially isolated and desperately in need of a real support network... of friends who know me deeply and love me, who will celebrate the joys of life with me and help me through the tough times. Friends that I can support and encourage in return.
Normally I would journal all of this and not tell anyone about my life changing resolutions to stop hiding, and then lose my motivation and be disappointed because I failed again. So I guess I'm sharing all of this as a way to say, I'm picking up my pack and taking those first steps up the trail, and I could use a little companionship along the way. Hope to see you on the mountain...
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
I'm a Feminist and I Do Housework because I Love My Husband
2 comments Posted by RachelRenae at 4:53 PMI haven't posted anything on here for quite a while. That's because I'm very busy these days taking care of 6 month old Isabella. And when I'm not taking care of her, I'm trying to maintain the business I've worked so hard to build. And if there isn't writing to be done, there are the endless piles of laundry which seem to be reproducing. And while I'm parenting, working, and cleaning, I'm finding a little bit of time here and there to take care of myself.
Much to our joy, Stephen recently got a job after 15 months of searching and waiting. And while he still works from home and it's more flexible than most jobs, he works hard and is usually in his office all day, so I'm sort of on my own on weekdays. It also means that a lot of the work for my business that he had been taking care of is now falling to me, and I'm feeling the added pressure. It's been a sore spot for us lately... I feel like I work more than he does. I'm certainly balancing more things at once than he is. But then I realize that Stephen gets far less time with our daughter than I do, and even less time to take care of himself.
Recently Time magazine published a story about how working dads and stay at home moms work pretty equal amounts, albeit in often different ways. But just yesterday, I read an excerpt from Think: Straight Talk For Women To Stay Smart In A Dumbed-Down World by Lisa Bloom suggesting that women should be hiring someone else to do our housework, and women who do it themselves are stuck in the 50s, and that we have "no excuse" for this ignorance. (You can read it here.)
The suggestion that I'm an unenlightened and powerless domestic slave, or worse, oppressed by my overbearing misogynistic husband because I'm not spending our hard earned money paying someone else to do a job I could easily do myself, is simply infuriating.
Do you know why I do housework? Because saying "I love you" in Stephen's love language means acts of service. Popularized by author Gary Chapman, there are 5 love languages: physical touch, quality time, gifts, words of affirmation, and acts of service. Most people find that they naturally communicate and receive love using mainly one or two of these languages. When Stephen sees dishes in the sink and just cleans them, or brings me a cup of coffee without me asking, or voluntarily cleans up a mess that someone else made, he's showing love. Just like when I give a giant hug or launch into a long winded soliloquy praising all your minutest qualities, I'm showing love. Because my thing is touch and words (lots of words).
Even though our languages are a little different, we try to speak each other's language regularly. So, although cleaning doesn't come naturally to me, and in fact goes totally against my nature, I do it because I love when Stephen emerges from his office and sees that I've vacuumed up the astonishing amount of ever accumulating dog fur, and his appreciation is obvious on his face.
I enjoy making my husband happy because I love him, and that doesn't mean that I think we should go back to the good ol' days when women couldn't vote.
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