This year’s birthday was the most mellow yet. Since the big day happened to fall on a Monday, we opted to celebrate over the weekend. We enjoyed my favorite take out, watched my favorite shows, and drank many a fancy mocktail. On my actual birthday, I was exhausted so I went and got my favorite latte and bagel and then crashed for a few hours on the couch with my kiddo. We ended the evening with a fancy Costco dinner of hot dogs for Issy and a chicken bake for me. It was nothing special but it was relaxing; which is exactly what I needed.
For the past few years, I have forgotten my age. Seriously, I always forget which thirty something I am. I just don’t care. Age has never been a big deal to me. Yes, I am getting older… but that doesn’t really scare me… yet! Maybe this will all change at some point but for now, my age just doesn’t really matter. I also REALLY hate attention. I don’t like public shout outs (but I do like to give them to the people I love so I have been told I am a hypocrite when it comes to this). I don’t like people paying attention to me. Perhaps it’s all the years of growing up and people telling me I must love attention that made me completely shy away from it. I never loved it and when you have people telling you do like you are some kind of crazy attention seeker, it made me run the other way. Who knew saying “Happy Birthday” to me could turn in to such a debacle?
This year is going to be a big year for me. I will be birthing my second child, my husband will be finishing up some big things, and my daughter will start preschool. Our whole way of life is going to be upended. Naturally this has me thinking about things I need to let go of, things I need to plan for, and things I need to work on. This whole year is also reminding me that I need to keep loving myself. That may sound silly but it something I struggle with and work on daily. My gut reaction to any circumstance in life is to turn inward and basically blame or hate myself. Why couldn’t I be better? Why didn’t I plan for that? And the list of unhealthy self-loathing questions goes on. This has never served me well and has even turned me into a version of myself that I really don’t like or ever want to be. So I have had to find ways to be better and not turn to that way of thinking. I need to continue to work on pushing that away and letting things go. For a long time, I was SUPER insecure. This was exploited by that negative thinking and even negative people. While I grew out of that a while ago, the trauma of living, thinking, and speaking like that has been slow to heal. Oddly enough, being a mother to my daughter has helped me to let that stuff go. It has no place in helping shape a decent human. When she looks at me or cries for me or is driving me downright crazy, I see myself in a whole new way and it’s a way that is really good for me to experience. I have to be better not just for her but for myself; I can’t expect to mother well if I carry all that baggage around. AND truthfully, it has no power or relevance in the current life I lead. What does have power is working on my patience (which is tried daily by a toddler) and kindness (also tried daily by a toddler, a world where there is so much to be afraid of, and constant worry of “what’s next”). I don’t want to be 35, 39, 42, or 50 and still trying to acknowledge this stuff. I want 34 to be the year of finally just letting go. Breathing it all in on one breath and breathing it all out right after. This is the year.
As a 34 year old, I still feel young. Heck I am young! I am not that old but because I have children, people automatically assume you must be more ancient than you are- which is an unfair stigma. BUT hey, so is the decision to not have children. People are just brutal to each other some times. We are especially brutal about the aging process. Do I physically look different than I did a decade ago? SURE DO. Am I healthier than I was a decade ago? SURE AM. My face has more freckles, sometimes I see a hint of a double chin, my butt has changed, my boobs are bigger, my size is bigger but I am still healthier than I have ever been. I can workout pretty well (ok, well right now my belly is in the way and it is getting hard to do my regular routine so I am down to just walking- but still), I eat healthy, and I am actually happy. I am not perfect and have lots to work on but I am just happy. I am happy to be living in Vermont, have my family, and be who I am. Sometimes, I do feel alone. Being a mom in the pandemic can be a lonesome journey and being a pregnant mom in the pandemic can be even more lonesome still. There are far more interesting people out there to hang out with but I think I am still pretty cool. And I only plan on getting cooler, so come on 34!
I used to take a lot of selfies. Maybe it was the confidence or the fact that I used to do my hair and make up every day and now I definitely don’t… BUT, this is me. This is 34.
I feel A LOT of shame about this topic. Like, a lot. Everyone always talks about postpartum depression… but no one talks about depression DURING the pregnancy. It’s very real. And it feels very shameful.
For starters, I had a really tough pregnancy. On top of a lot of the regular things your body goes through, there are other things that can happen. For some, it’s no big deal and for others, it is a super big deal. Pregnancy wasn’t the experience I had hoped for- and that’s ok. I don’t look back and hate any of it, but I do acknowledge that because of those experiences, I am not sold on having a second kiddo.
**I want to say that I never felt any sadness about Rosemary during her time in my belly. She actually brought me a lot of peace. For this, I am grateful. I am grateful that I didn’t have any unhealthy anxiety over her or dark thoughts about her. She was my solace. I also want to say that my husband took such wonderful care of me during this time. He showed up to EVERY appointment, made sure I ate, and even drove me to therapy. He entertained guests so that I didn’t have to when I wasn’t feeling well. He was, and is to this day, my rock. Unfortunately, the following events are really tough for our family to talk about because of the fact that I was in such a dark spot. I know he shoulders a lot of responsibility (more than he should- but it’s who he is) and despite all the care and comfort he was indeed providing, it was not enough… and the hard truth for me to own is that I don’t know if anything would have qualified as enough. It isn’t logical… sometimes issues of mental health aren’t easily defined. I was not myself. I was not in a good place. I was in so much physical pain and tried to hide a lot of it from him. I was also very good at hiding a lot of my feelings from him because I didn’t want to burden him or bring him down into the trenches. Was keeping him out the right thing? Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe a lot of what I was feeling might have felt less… less crazy if I had let him in? Maybe I would have not felt so “dark?” Maybe. All I can say is that I am grateful for everything he did for me. He loves me more than I sometimes can comprehend. Israel is my better half and he always will be.**
The dark haze started when I was 4 months pregnant and more specifically, after a group of girlfriends visited me in Spain. Seeing my friends was so amazing and I had not realized how much I missed having fellowship with the women who knew me, accepted me, and lifted me up. I loved laughing, having super smart conversations, and showing them Spain. When they departed I realized how much I had adapted to being alone in Spain. Sure, I had Issy. And sure, I had friends… but it wasn’t the same and I didn’t realize how much my heart needed those women that loved me for me as me. I realize that may sound crazy but having people that knew me as my own self and had witnessed me grow up was actually essential. It validated me and made me realize how much I missed witnessing their lives and celebrating their successes and comforting them in times of need. I missed that fellowship. As I was processing that, my pregnancy started to get tougher. And as it got tougher, I felt more alone, more crazy, more unworthy, and more inconsequential. I knew something wasn’t right (years of working on my mental health finally paid off and I was able to notice some important signs). I think I also felt more alone than usual because I didn’t have my mom. That was hard for me. I couldn’t really talk to anyone the way I needed to talk to my mom. I didn’t have my mom and I didn’t have my friends.
It was in June of 2018 while we had company that my mental health got really bad. Part of it was what was going on inside of my brain and part of it was that I was left to myself a lot. Issy is a great host and took charge of showing off everything Valencia had to offer. I couldn’t do a lot of the things our guests and my husband were doing because I was just so damn uncomfortable and life in the Spanish heat made me more irritable. This is no one’s fault… I blame the sun and my ever persistent need to have to pee. It didn’t take a lot for me to just feel… inconsequential. I couldn’t rally to stay up late and hang out or go out and party with friends. I felt so lame. I was so tired (my exhaustion lasted through my whole pregnancy- it was super uncomfortable). Thus, I was alone. And when I could do things, I really didn’t want to. Truth be told, I wanted to… but I literally could not. I was blessed enough (insert an insane amount of sarcasm here) to have SPD, a kind of pelvis issue, starting in trimester 2. Walking literally hurt so bad I could feel my hips pulsing with pain and my pelvis grinding because they were so stiff. I was also lucky enough (NOT) to experience my first UTI during this time in the pregnancy… this would become 1 of 5 UTIs. AND NO- it’s not because I didn’t keep “it” clean. My girl, Rosemary, just liked to lean a certain way in my womb. Each time required an emergency visit to my doctor or the ER to check the intensity of it because it is not uncommon that an untreated or severe UTI can cause preterm labor. Luckily, mine were never that bad; just painful and treatable with an antibiotic… which I had to take… 5 times. Needless to say June was the start of me really not being ok. After having several bouts of painful Braxton Hicks contractions brought on by stress, I knew I needed to get some help.
Normally, getting help wouldn’t be a problem. BUT… I was in Spain. I relied on my husband for most of my translations with bigger things like medical stuff. I could shop, dine, taxi, and converse with neighbors and other NATO families just fine (with a little help here and there) by myself… but medical stuff… I could not. I needed a therapist. And I needed them to speak English. Luckily, I had the BEST doctor. Dra. Marisa Montesinos Carbonell is amazing and she was able to help find me one that did speak English. Talking to someone did help. More than anything, she made me feel not so crazy.
I still struggled. I didn’t feel like myself. And if I didn’t feel like myself, I know I wasn’t acting like myself. Issy won’t say this, because he is too kind, but I know he didn’t know what to do with me. I never wanted to take him away from the things that made him happy so I rarely ever said “no” to anything. I said yes to everything and ended up resenting those decisions. I didn’t want to go over to people’s houses and sit in the uncomfortable Spanish heat. I didn’t want to pretend I was happy when honestly, I wasn’t. I was so upset at doing things I didn’t want to do. I hated having to leave early so that I could go home and just sleep. AND, I hated doing that even more because I always went home by myself. It made me feel more alone and more screwed up. Honestly, it made me feel unworthy. That feeling alone is super complex to remember and it’s something I won’t be diving into right now. Even remembering this particular feeling is painful and brings me a lot of sadness. Normally, doing all of these regular things would have been fine… but between the pain and what was going on in my head, I was a mess. None of these feelings are a reflection of ANYONE who was in my life at the time. Truly. All of what I was feeling was a dark haze of crazy in my head. And I was lucky enough to recognize that… which is also why I did opt to be alone a lot (even if I struggled with that loneliness). To me, it was better to be alone and process my feelings than to drag anyone into it with me… including, the love of my life.
As my final month of pregnancy began, a lot of those feelings started to go away. Happiness began to feel more “normal.” I actually enjoyed being pregnant. Granted, I still had one last UTI and my hips were so stiff I could barely walk in the evenings after a long day without a few tears… but, I had a better handle on all of it. I also just had a feeling that everything was going to be ok and that those feelings and emotions I was struggling with were behind me. Thank goodness I was right. I ended up not having any postpartum depression. Sure, I had a few moments where I felt the surge of hormones but never anything extreme or beyond what I could reasonably handle with little effort. For that, I am grateful.
When I look back on my pregnancy, I get emotional. I suppose this is because I remember being depressed. I remember feeling alone, being treated differently, and being in so much physical pain ALL THE TIME. I don’t look back on the time with a lot of fond memories. With that said, I do look back with a little bit of longing. Feeling Rosemary in my belly was a constant. I felt her kicks early on. I felt her move and swish every day. She made me feel not alone. She made me feel happy and strong. That connection is something unique to her and I.
Something that my pregnancy experience also taught me was that everyone has an opinion. Everyone has an opinion about what your labor experience will be like, what you choose to feed the baby, the things you decide to purchase for the baby (and what they cost), and how you choose to parent. This is totally normal. Everyone is pulling from their own experiences to give you a story of what it looks like. Usually they mean well. Sometimes you can feel their judgement of your decisions and/or experience or even their desire to live vicariously through you. It was a little overwhelming and honestly, at times, irritating. It did teach me about what kind of support I want to be to friends who are pregnant. I don’t really care too much about how anybody does anything. I just want to be supportive! I want to be a safe place for someone to say, today is amazing and here is why OR to say, today sucks and here is what I am feeling. Sure I have opinions on baby swag and feeding stuff, but I don’t think anyone really cares… I am not putting my experience or preferences on anybody… unless they ask!
Currently, Rosemary is crying up a storm because I took the book “Go Dog Go” away from her. I didn’t want her using it as a teething toy. Obviously, I am an evil mama. Just kidding. She will get over it. She was worth it all. Every. Damn. Thing.
September 30th, 2018- the night before R was born.
The Salty Exchange 