I first read about the concept that covenant marriage provides great security for the spouses in Timothy Keller's excellent The Meaning of Marriage a little more than three years ago, when my now-husband and I read the book together during our engagement. But I've never experienced the truth of the idea so explicitly as when, recently, my husband and I went through a couple of difficult weeks during which we got into a nasty pattern of fighting and being angry with each other over some fairly insignificant issues. I suppose that after three years of marriage we have reached a point where we are each trying to figure out what marriage and parenting look like and how we should navigate our relationship through the little trials that daily life brings. Sometimes, as I'm sure every married person knows, tension, tiredness, and frustration can spill over into shouting and resentment aimed at your spouse.
When this pattern of anger happened between us, my husband and I felt confused as to why it was happening and how to fix it. But we did not feel confused about one thing: we are married, which means we have a committed covenant relationship with each other. And that reality is not going away, no matter what we might feel. Having a covenant between us means we are not in this relationship "at will," leaving a back door open for either party to walk out. Instead, knowing we are together as long as we both live means we aren't thinking of leaving as an option. The only option is to work it out.
As we struggled through our bitter fights, we periodically reminded each other that we were still married, and that we still loved each other. I can tell you that we did not feel in love at the time! Far from it. But hearing those words, "I am with you. I do love you," from my husband meant that I had freedom to be myself and work through our fighting and the terrible emotions we were both experiencing without fear of abandonment. There is amazing security in the covenant.
However, the covenant commitment also means that we did not want to stay in our pattern of anger for very long. How awful would it be if we felt anger with no positive change or hope for the rest of our lives? Instead of resigning ourselves to the "fact" of our emotions, we recognized that, precisely because we are committed, we needed to work to make things better. What worked for us in this case was simply setting aside our complaints against each other for a time (not to sweep them under the rug, but as a temporary "truce"), and focusing on being affectionate through basic things like encouraging words and hugs. Maybe this sounds too simple, but it has been helping us. As we let ourselves (through choosing every day to be affectionate) have a break from the habit of bitterness, we found ourselves being more and more able to productively talk about what had been bothering us. Fighting to maintain affection is possible, and emotions can be chosen, though not always easily.
Let me say as a final note that my husband and I believe covenant marriage truly works only when God, who created marriage in the first place, is a party in the commitment along with the two spouses. In such cases, marriage is truly the best blessing and the biggest way God can shape a person into being more like Himself.
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Feb 11, 2017
He Loves Me Even When He's at Work
In honor of National Marriage Week, I want to write about one of the lessons I've been learning in my own marriage lately (which is just an easier way of saying I struggle to handle this situation like an adult sometimes).
Due to the nature of my husband's job, he has some seasons of busyness that can leave me feeling lonely and even unloved. My strongest love languages*, the ways I most clearly receive and naturally want to give love, are touch and quality time. Needless to say, when my husband works long hours, I do not get touches from or quality time with him. As a stay-at-home mom, I instead spend most of the day (and night!) caring for a little one and feeling, at the end of each week, pretty well emotionally drained.
At those times when I'm feeling most lonely and in need of some simple affection from my guy, my awful tendency is to start resenting him and his job instead of remembering the plain truth that it is a blessing that I have such a loving husband in the first place and that he has a job that allows him to take care of our needs in the second place.
I should also remind myself during those times that my husband's love language is not the same as mine. In fact, his love language is most often acts of service. When he's at home, he loves me by taking care of the house and doing chores I may not have had time for that day. He also perceives his job as an act of service (and therefore love) for me. When he's working hard at his job, he's actively loving me. He hasn't forgotten me.
Let me also never forget that ultimately the meeting of all of my emotional needs comes from my Father in heaven, not from my husband (though I believe God uses my husband in many ways to meet those needs). God showed His great love for me by sending His Son, Jesus, to die for me even though I was not loving Him back (Romans 5:8). He loves me still even when I do get resentful of my husband's work and both totally disrespect my husband and sneer at God's precious gifts in doing so. He is always with me. He has promised never to leave or forsake me (Hebrews 13:5).
Let me speak truth to my tired and lonely heart even when I don't feel it this week: I am loved, and I am not alone.
___
*The idea of love languages comes from Gary Chapman's The 5 Love Languages.
Due to the nature of my husband's job, he has some seasons of busyness that can leave me feeling lonely and even unloved. My strongest love languages*, the ways I most clearly receive and naturally want to give love, are touch and quality time. Needless to say, when my husband works long hours, I do not get touches from or quality time with him. As a stay-at-home mom, I instead spend most of the day (and night!) caring for a little one and feeling, at the end of each week, pretty well emotionally drained.
At those times when I'm feeling most lonely and in need of some simple affection from my guy, my awful tendency is to start resenting him and his job instead of remembering the plain truth that it is a blessing that I have such a loving husband in the first place and that he has a job that allows him to take care of our needs in the second place.
I should also remind myself during those times that my husband's love language is not the same as mine. In fact, his love language is most often acts of service. When he's at home, he loves me by taking care of the house and doing chores I may not have had time for that day. He also perceives his job as an act of service (and therefore love) for me. When he's working hard at his job, he's actively loving me. He hasn't forgotten me.
Let me also never forget that ultimately the meeting of all of my emotional needs comes from my Father in heaven, not from my husband (though I believe God uses my husband in many ways to meet those needs). God showed His great love for me by sending His Son, Jesus, to die for me even though I was not loving Him back (Romans 5:8). He loves me still even when I do get resentful of my husband's work and both totally disrespect my husband and sneer at God's precious gifts in doing so. He is always with me. He has promised never to leave or forsake me (Hebrews 13:5).
Let me speak truth to my tired and lonely heart even when I don't feel it this week: I am loved, and I am not alone.
___
*The idea of love languages comes from Gary Chapman's The 5 Love Languages.
Aug 30, 2016
Paddling with My Head Out of the Water
I've been wanting to write about the "rest of the story" of my postpartum depression for a few months now, but this past week my husband spoke a catalyst for my ideas (not an uncommon occurrence!). He was encouraging me about my mothering abilities and he reminded me of something he'd predicted before our daughter was born: He'd said I would take to being a mom like a duck takes to water. However, he reflected, now I was finally paddling with my head out of the water, able to see around me, whereas for the first eight months or so, I had been swimming in the pond with my head under the water the whole time (still paddling away, being a good mom, just not really enjoying it much).
What a funny image, a duck paddling through a murky pond with its head continuously underwater. That is rather what life felt like in the months after little girl was born. Though I was functioning (albeit at minimal levels sometimes), everything seemed muddy, thick, and dark. Some of what I was feeling I put into an earlier post, and now it's time to tell what happened that brought my head out of the water.
Midway through February of this year I got a terrible stomach bug. This thing was more like a stomach giant squid. I was knocked out flat (literally flat on the floor or the bed most of the time) for a few days, and my mom had to come take care of little one so I could rest and recover and suck on ice chips. After almost a week of dehydration and exhaustion, I went to the doctor, thinking I was also having panic attacks (turns out I was probably dizzy from dehydration). This sickness is what finally drove me to go see a doctor about not only the physical illness, but the mental/psychological/emotional one I had been suffering as well. The week that I was temporarily unable to physically care for my daughter showed me I needed help in other areas, too!
On the way to the doctor and throughout those few days I had conversations with my husband, sister, parents, grandma, cousin, and life-long best friend, who all encouraged me that medication for anxiety or depression could be the solution I needed. I was finally ready to be willing to go down that path if necessary, whereas I had always fought against medication as an option before. One thing that scared me about it now was that I was breastfeeding my daughter and our nursing relationship was very important to me. I knew that if we had to stop it suddenly, there would be a whole new mess of emotions tangled up in the weaning.
After seeing the doctor, whom I'd never met before (with my sister there for moral support), and waiting for a referral to a psychologist, something happened. My mom and sister and I had been planning on driving about five hours up to our old home town to attend a friend's baby shower at the end of February. I'd been a wreck about it (since traveling with my daughter that far seemed like an impending catastrophe to me at the time). I ended up deciding not to go. Then, the day before the dreaded road trip, something in me clicked and I got our stuff together and headed to my mom's house to get ready to do the road trip. The four of us made it through the weekend. Lots of brick walls in my mind crumbled during that trip. Forced to be flexible, I saw that flexibility could actually work.
For a couple of weeks after the trip, what I can only describe as a mini miracle took place in my mind and emotions. It was like a switch had gone off in my brain (my husband agrees). I'm not sure if it was biological (diet change?), hormonal (always in flux!), or just plain supernatural (God is at work, after all!), but God allowed me to have positive thoughts and feelings about my daughter, our life, and myself. I cannot remember the last time I'd had such thoughts before that week. I cannot completely explain the kinds of thoughts I had, but they were like visions of the future that were memories at the same time. I envisioned slumber parties with my daughter where we would wear matching pajamas and watch movies. I saw Thanksgiving family gatherings for which we'd be baking and setting the table together. I felt warm feelings like the ones I feel during Christmastime (the highest praise coming from me - if anything is comparable to Christmas, in my mind, it's essentially the best it could possibly be). In short, I caught glimpses of the potential "warm fuzzies" in my family's future, and these insights changed my feelings for my daughter and for myself as a mom.
After a couple of weeks, the "feeling memories" stopped happening (they had been almost continuous for that time - an amazing gift from my Father!), but my changed emotional attitude remained. I was finally feeling more like myself again. A tired and sometimes bored out of my mind version of myself, but myself nonetheless, I was able to look about and see the beauty of the pond where I'm now swimming. And God allowed me to feel better without the aid of medication, so I was and am still able to breastfeed my daughter successfully and without concern. This little duck is still paddling, by God's grace!
____________
Note: From doing a bit of research I've learned there are some medications to alleviate depression that doctors prescribe to nursing mothers so they are able to continue nursing! When postpartum depression requires medication to help you get back to yourself, it's OK to get help in that way. God provides through medicines, too.
What a funny image, a duck paddling through a murky pond with its head continuously underwater. That is rather what life felt like in the months after little girl was born. Though I was functioning (albeit at minimal levels sometimes), everything seemed muddy, thick, and dark. Some of what I was feeling I put into an earlier post, and now it's time to tell what happened that brought my head out of the water.
Midway through February of this year I got a terrible stomach bug. This thing was more like a stomach giant squid. I was knocked out flat (literally flat on the floor or the bed most of the time) for a few days, and my mom had to come take care of little one so I could rest and recover and suck on ice chips. After almost a week of dehydration and exhaustion, I went to the doctor, thinking I was also having panic attacks (turns out I was probably dizzy from dehydration). This sickness is what finally drove me to go see a doctor about not only the physical illness, but the mental/psychological/emotional one I had been suffering as well. The week that I was temporarily unable to physically care for my daughter showed me I needed help in other areas, too!
On the way to the doctor and throughout those few days I had conversations with my husband, sister, parents, grandma, cousin, and life-long best friend, who all encouraged me that medication for anxiety or depression could be the solution I needed. I was finally ready to be willing to go down that path if necessary, whereas I had always fought against medication as an option before. One thing that scared me about it now was that I was breastfeeding my daughter and our nursing relationship was very important to me. I knew that if we had to stop it suddenly, there would be a whole new mess of emotions tangled up in the weaning.
After seeing the doctor, whom I'd never met before (with my sister there for moral support), and waiting for a referral to a psychologist, something happened. My mom and sister and I had been planning on driving about five hours up to our old home town to attend a friend's baby shower at the end of February. I'd been a wreck about it (since traveling with my daughter that far seemed like an impending catastrophe to me at the time). I ended up deciding not to go. Then, the day before the dreaded road trip, something in me clicked and I got our stuff together and headed to my mom's house to get ready to do the road trip. The four of us made it through the weekend. Lots of brick walls in my mind crumbled during that trip. Forced to be flexible, I saw that flexibility could actually work.
For a couple of weeks after the trip, what I can only describe as a mini miracle took place in my mind and emotions. It was like a switch had gone off in my brain (my husband agrees). I'm not sure if it was biological (diet change?), hormonal (always in flux!), or just plain supernatural (God is at work, after all!), but God allowed me to have positive thoughts and feelings about my daughter, our life, and myself. I cannot remember the last time I'd had such thoughts before that week. I cannot completely explain the kinds of thoughts I had, but they were like visions of the future that were memories at the same time. I envisioned slumber parties with my daughter where we would wear matching pajamas and watch movies. I saw Thanksgiving family gatherings for which we'd be baking and setting the table together. I felt warm feelings like the ones I feel during Christmastime (the highest praise coming from me - if anything is comparable to Christmas, in my mind, it's essentially the best it could possibly be). In short, I caught glimpses of the potential "warm fuzzies" in my family's future, and these insights changed my feelings for my daughter and for myself as a mom.
After a couple of weeks, the "feeling memories" stopped happening (they had been almost continuous for that time - an amazing gift from my Father!), but my changed emotional attitude remained. I was finally feeling more like myself again. A tired and sometimes bored out of my mind version of myself, but myself nonetheless, I was able to look about and see the beauty of the pond where I'm now swimming. And God allowed me to feel better without the aid of medication, so I was and am still able to breastfeed my daughter successfully and without concern. This little duck is still paddling, by God's grace!
____________
Note: From doing a bit of research I've learned there are some medications to alleviate depression that doctors prescribe to nursing mothers so they are able to continue nursing! When postpartum depression requires medication to help you get back to yourself, it's OK to get help in that way. God provides through medicines, too.
Jun 1, 2016
All or [Something]
My daughter's first birthday is approaching, and I've been remembering the day she was born. The labor and delivery experience was mostly just what I could have hoped for, but there were a couple of incidents that I wish I could go back and change (as you can read about in a post I wrote to document the experience). These lingering regrets were the topic of a recent tearful bedtime conversation between my husband and me. It may seem silly, but yes, that frustrating disappointment was still bothering me. I told my husband that I wished I could go back and fix it. True to his teacherly style (though he's not a teacher), my husband counseled me using a metaphor I could relate to as an English major: "Why? The paper has been turned in. It's done. Forget about it and move on!"
"But I want to turn in an addendum!" I moaned. "I want to fix the broken things." His response was a revelation and turning point for me: "It's not broken." Simple.
He was completely right, of course. Why, then, had I been feeling so strongly that my labor and delivery experience was broken somehow?
My general take on life, especially tasks I feel responsible for, could fit the expression that "it's all or nothing." Washing with a bar of soap that turned out to smell strange? Use it all up anyway. Using cloth diapers? Better not reach for that disposable. Cleaning house? Darned if it's not a disaster every evening when I haven't swept, mopped, dusted, and wiped down the entire house. In other words, it's all or nothing or I've failed.
But lately I've had to adjust my expectations of myself. Having a kid complicates things. Honestly, having a life complicates things. The cloth diapering is a good example of a responsibility that I've relaxed about. Sometimes a disposable is necessary or just plain easier, and using one doesn't mean that all of the cloth diapering is wasted. We can still have the benefits of cloth even if I use a disposable now and then.
The same is true of the labor and delivery that I've struggled to get past emotionally. Nothing about it needed fixing. Rather, my feelings are what need some adjustment. In reality, the experience was a good one. God gave us a healthy baby. My focus has to shift as I think more gratefully than regretfully about the whole thing. Sometimes life is not "all or nothing." Sometimes plain, ordinary "something" is enough.
"But I want to turn in an addendum!" I moaned. "I want to fix the broken things." His response was a revelation and turning point for me: "It's not broken." Simple.
He was completely right, of course. Why, then, had I been feeling so strongly that my labor and delivery experience was broken somehow?
My general take on life, especially tasks I feel responsible for, could fit the expression that "it's all or nothing." Washing with a bar of soap that turned out to smell strange? Use it all up anyway. Using cloth diapers? Better not reach for that disposable. Cleaning house? Darned if it's not a disaster every evening when I haven't swept, mopped, dusted, and wiped down the entire house. In other words, it's all or nothing or I've failed.
But lately I've had to adjust my expectations of myself. Having a kid complicates things. Honestly, having a life complicates things. The cloth diapering is a good example of a responsibility that I've relaxed about. Sometimes a disposable is necessary or just plain easier, and using one doesn't mean that all of the cloth diapering is wasted. We can still have the benefits of cloth even if I use a disposable now and then.
The same is true of the labor and delivery that I've struggled to get past emotionally. Nothing about it needed fixing. Rather, my feelings are what need some adjustment. In reality, the experience was a good one. God gave us a healthy baby. My focus has to shift as I think more gratefully than regretfully about the whole thing. Sometimes life is not "all or nothing." Sometimes plain, ordinary "something" is enough.
Nov 8, 2015
A Blazingly Honest Post-Partum Post
I've written a few posts since the birth of my daughter, and they've all been true in the sense that I have reflected on my circumstances and have tried to relate them to larger truths (specifically biblical truth). However, I don't usually gush forth with unfiltered emotions in my posts, and today I want to. Maybe a reader will relate to what I'm saying. Maybe not. In any case, I'm sure I'm not alone in having these feelings, whether most moms (most I know, anyway) have them, or talk about them, or do neither of these things. So, here it is: the honest truth about my feelings since my daughter's birth. It's about to get personal here!
Most of the time in the first few weeks after she was born, I was so tired and terrified I wanted everything to stop. Just stop. I wanted to go back to "normal" life from before the birth or even before pregnancy. I resented my baby sometimes. Sometimes I had fleeting thoughts of getting rid of her, through adoption or death. Those thoughts were scary! They'd always be followed by my rational mind reacting: What on earth are you thinking?! Stop that! But they occurred, nonetheless, though thankfully just a few times. Of course all of this made me feel terribly guilty as well.
I thought that I would adjust. After all, lots of moms have some form of "Baby Blues" in the first few weeks after giving birth. And I did adjust, somewhat. I got a little more rest, and I felt a bit more rational. But here we are, nearly five months later, and I still have many of those same feelings.
My thoughts on good days (which are the majority now) turn to how much I enjoy seeing her learning and growing and laughing. I imagine what she'll be like when she's 5, or 12, or 20. But I have bad days where I still want everything to stop, where I wish I could go back to "normal," and where I feel resentful of my baby. If my husband or family ask me to do something fun, I feel stressed. If they ask what I'd like to do to relax, I can only think of things that don't include my baby in the picture. It's like my emotions haven't caught up to the reality of my situation.
Time will help me catch up eventually, I'm sure. But then, there are things that I hate to bring myself to think of. I don't want to catch up to the reality in some cases. I just ignore these things because they bother me too much. For example, I don't feel the same way down there, and I wonder if I ever will again. Too much to think of. Too painful. Thoughts about that area bring back memories of giving birth, and I can't stand it.
So, there it is. I'm often wishing my life were different. I'm often waiting for "eventually." I realize that neither of those thought patterns is a very biblical perspective (except in the sense that I can and should set my hope on eternal things, things unseen). I'm not saying I have answers, or that I'm in a great place with this. I haven't figured it out, but I'm visiting my family for a six-week restorative time while my husband works around 15 hours a day at his job (aside: appreciation for military spouses and others who have to be separated from their loved ones for extended periods - it's hard!), and I'm seeing a counselor. I started reading Psalms, in no particular order. These things are helping, and I'm hopeful. Getting more sleep helps a lot.
Maybe you've had similar experiences or feelings, and I hope you might be encouraged just to hear my raw thoughts.
Most of the time in the first few weeks after she was born, I was so tired and terrified I wanted everything to stop. Just stop. I wanted to go back to "normal" life from before the birth or even before pregnancy. I resented my baby sometimes. Sometimes I had fleeting thoughts of getting rid of her, through adoption or death. Those thoughts were scary! They'd always be followed by my rational mind reacting: What on earth are you thinking?! Stop that! But they occurred, nonetheless, though thankfully just a few times. Of course all of this made me feel terribly guilty as well.
I thought that I would adjust. After all, lots of moms have some form of "Baby Blues" in the first few weeks after giving birth. And I did adjust, somewhat. I got a little more rest, and I felt a bit more rational. But here we are, nearly five months later, and I still have many of those same feelings.
My thoughts on good days (which are the majority now) turn to how much I enjoy seeing her learning and growing and laughing. I imagine what she'll be like when she's 5, or 12, or 20. But I have bad days where I still want everything to stop, where I wish I could go back to "normal," and where I feel resentful of my baby. If my husband or family ask me to do something fun, I feel stressed. If they ask what I'd like to do to relax, I can only think of things that don't include my baby in the picture. It's like my emotions haven't caught up to the reality of my situation.
Time will help me catch up eventually, I'm sure. But then, there are things that I hate to bring myself to think of. I don't want to catch up to the reality in some cases. I just ignore these things because they bother me too much. For example, I don't feel the same way down there, and I wonder if I ever will again. Too much to think of. Too painful. Thoughts about that area bring back memories of giving birth, and I can't stand it.
So, there it is. I'm often wishing my life were different. I'm often waiting for "eventually." I realize that neither of those thought patterns is a very biblical perspective (except in the sense that I can and should set my hope on eternal things, things unseen). I'm not saying I have answers, or that I'm in a great place with this. I haven't figured it out, but I'm visiting my family for a six-week restorative time while my husband works around 15 hours a day at his job (aside: appreciation for military spouses and others who have to be separated from their loved ones for extended periods - it's hard!), and I'm seeing a counselor. I started reading Psalms, in no particular order. These things are helping, and I'm hopeful. Getting more sleep helps a lot.
Maybe you've had similar experiences or feelings, and I hope you might be encouraged just to hear my raw thoughts.
Jul 10, 2015
Birth Story
The Shorter Version
To help prepare for labor and delivery, I read through Natural Hospital Birth: The Best of Both Worlds, written by doula Cynthia Gabriel. I knew I wanted to try for a birth without medical interventions (barring emergency interventions), and this book was the perfect fit (I'm definitely not an expert, but I highly recommend it to anyone interested in natural birth who also wants to deliver in a hospital).
What I Had Expected:
The Longer Version
To help prepare for labor and delivery, I read through Natural Hospital Birth: The Best of Both Worlds, written by doula Cynthia Gabriel. I knew I wanted to try for a birth without medical interventions (barring emergency interventions), and this book was the perfect fit (I'm definitely not an expert, but I highly recommend it to anyone interested in natural birth who also wants to deliver in a hospital). Gabriel mentions that every labor and delivery is unique and that women like to share their stories. Beforehand, I didn't know if sharing would matter much to me, but now that I've gone through this crazy experience, I feel the urge to write down my memories before they get too muddled!
To help prepare for labor and delivery, I read through Natural Hospital Birth: The Best of Both Worlds, written by doula Cynthia Gabriel. I knew I wanted to try for a birth without medical interventions (barring emergency interventions), and this book was the perfect fit (I'm definitely not an expert, but I highly recommend it to anyone interested in natural birth who also wants to deliver in a hospital).
What I Had Expected:
- Contractions were painful, yes. The techniques my husband and I had learned through both a Lamaze class and the Natural Hospital Birth book actually did help, though! Various combinations of back pressure and hip squeezing, along with controlled breathing, rocking, and leaning, made it possible to get through each contraction.
- My husband was incredibly supportive throughout the entire process, and I think this one individual element was the most indispensable in terms of making it through without being absolutely terrified. (I never felt truly afraid except for a short time during pushing.)
What I Hadn't Expected:
- I threw up! No one had told me that would be normal.
- Pushing was exhausting and it was the hardest part for me. Most people/books had said that women often find this phase a relief after contractions. Not so for me!
- We are fairly certain my contractions were never super regular. The definitely weren't regular in the earlier stages of labor. Perhaps at the very end they were.
Why I'm Thankful:
- My husband is amazing.
- My doctor is amazing.
- Labor and delivery nurses are amazing.
- A baby girl came out of my body and was placed on my chest. This is incredible to me.
- God is good.
The Longer Version
To help prepare for labor and delivery, I read through Natural Hospital Birth: The Best of Both Worlds, written by doula Cynthia Gabriel. I knew I wanted to try for a birth without medical interventions (barring emergency interventions), and this book was the perfect fit (I'm definitely not an expert, but I highly recommend it to anyone interested in natural birth who also wants to deliver in a hospital). Gabriel mentions that every labor and delivery is unique and that women like to share their stories. Beforehand, I didn't know if sharing would matter much to me, but now that I've gone through this crazy experience, I feel the urge to write down my memories before they get too muddled!
I think I must have been having Braxton Hicks contractions for a couple of weeks leading up to labor. There was one day that I thought they felt a bit different than normal. I told my parents (who planned to travel to be at the hospital for the birth) that things might be happening, but that they shouldn't try the drive yet; however, they and my sister went ahead and came to see us anyway! Turns out they spent a couple of nights in town and I got to spend time with them before the baby's arrival, which is a sweet part of my memory of this event. They ended up going back home before the little one came.
It was only two days later, a Monday, that labor really began! The morning before I had noticed that my mucus plug came out, and throughout Sunday I had "bloody show" - a sign of approaching labor. Also, I was past due (41 weeks and 2 days on Monday), so I was expectant. Monday morning I woke up feeling like the contractions were definitely stronger than they had ever been. My husband was able to stay home from work in anticipation of labor truly starting, and I had fairly consistent bouts of contractions all day, but none were at regular intervals.
By the evening my husband and I were doubtful (again) that anything was actually going to happen, but then, at about 8:00, contractions started to be fairly close together, although they still weren't at regular intervals. We started to pay close attention to timing, and they would come at such irregular spacing that we thought it was "false labor." We watched a show and headed to bed. At about 9:30, just as we were ready to go to sleep, we realized that sleep would actually be impossible. The contractions by that time were too painful for me to fall asleep, and they were coming fairly close together (4 or 5 minutes apart). We kept timing them, and we decided to go ahead and get the last minute items into our hospital bags. There were a couple of instances where the contractions came about 2 minutes apart, but still they were not consistently getting closer together and still they weren't so painful that I couldn't walk or talk through them. We weren't sure when to go to the hospital since our goal was to go through early labor as much as possible at home.
Finally, even though our resources for achieving a natural birth recommended waiting until contractions took my total focus before going to the hospital, we decided to leave. I think we felt a bit nervous about waiting too long, since it was our first labor experience, we had to go down stairs to get to the car, and it was raining. By the time we got to the hospital, my contractions had slowed and gotten less intense. I was second-guessing our timing, but in the end it was probably good that we arrived when we did. I was admitted to triage, where they check everything before really admitting you, and was only dilated to a 3 (one centimeter more than at my previous checkup). They told my husband and me to walk around the halls for an hour to see if I would progress at all. If I didn't, we would have to go home (although the doctor said she was reluctant to send us home since I was past due). I was nervous they might try to induce labor if I didn't progress naturally, but after an hour (and an extra twenty minutes for good measure) of walking, I was dilated to a 4, and they admitted me! What a huge relief. By that time, my contractions were making me stop and focus on breathing to get through. My husband was so supportive in standing with me and encouraging me through each one. We even got to see my parents and sister (who had driven to be there - again! - and were out in the waiting area).
In our labor and delivery room, the nurses were amazing. We gave them a thank-you card that had our birth plan written inside, stating our desire for a natural birth, and I remember one nurse reading it to the other one and saying something like "nothing too crazy," which was another huge relief to me. One of my fears had been that the nurses/doctor would not be supportive of our desires or would find them frustrating. After all of the questions had been asked and forms had been signed, the nurse working with us pretty much left us to ourselves except to come adjust the little monitor I wore that measured the baby's heartbeat. We were able to move around the room and get through the contractions without distractions or unwanted attention (yet another relief, and an answer to prayer). We ended up finding a system that worked for us, which involved sitting between contractions and standing or leaning against a wall or with hands on knees during the contractions. My husband, always supportive, helped me through each one by either squeezing my hips or applying pressure to my lower back. These techniques really helped! I kept focusing on breathing, too, which was also helpful.
At one point I threw up, which I had not expected to happen, and I felt a bit afraid something might be wrong. The nurse came in shortly after that and she told us it was totally normal and she had never seen a labor where the mom didn't throw up! Whew. I guess I missed that part of the book.
The worst contractions for me were the last ones before the transition phase, I guess around 6 to 7 and 7 to 8 centimeters. The first time the nurse checked me after we got to the labor and delivery room I was at an 8, and I remember the contractions from that point on until pushing felt a lot different from the ones before. Suddenly I did not want to stand and rock, breathing quickly; instead I wanted to hold onto my husband, using something like a super tight hug, and breathe more slowly through them. His encouraging words were important to me at that point. We were both so tired that in the tiny gaps between contractions both of us were actually falling asleep. Those transition contractions seemed easier to me than the ones that had come before, which was a surprise, since our resources had taught us those were likely the most painful ones.
When the pushing phase came, everything changed. Suddenly we weren't left to ourselves anymore; nurses came in the room and one checked me and said I was fully dilated. They called my doctor (whose voice when she entered the room made me start crying with relief!) and put me on the bed, which until that point I had not used. My doctor found out soon after we began that I still needed to dilate a bit more, so there was a short time of some pretty painful contractions during which I was lying there and had to refrain from pushing.
To me, pushing was definitely the hardest part of the whole process. I think it's because I felt out of control being on my back with my legs held up like they were. Also, I was more mentally prepared for getting through contractions, and they happened to me, whereas I had not expected pushing to be so difficult, and they required my extreme effort to be effective. By that point I was so tired, having been awake for nearly 24 hours, and suddenly I was basically doing sit-ups through which I had to hold my breath. At one point early on I thought I was going to faint; they started giving me oxygen in between contractions, and that helped a lot.
At the start of pushing, for the first time during the whole labor, I really thought I might not be able to do it, which was frightening. I voiced that thought and everyone encouraged me that I could do it, that I was doing it. I started focusing on my doctor and listening to her instructions. She kept telling me to push harder and then to rest when it was time to rest. The nurses counted out each push for me, 1 to 10, which helped, too. My husband was close by and wiped my forehead with a cool cloth from time to time. Eventually the doctor told the nurse to start a pitocin drip to strengthen my contractions so that the pushing would not take as long a time. That's the only thing about the labor and delivery that I feel somewhat disappointed about, but it is a minimal disappointment. At the time I felt glad that they were helping me to get through this phase in a shorter amount of time since I was feeling so exhausted, and looking back I think it was probably a good decision. I remember sensing a mental shift away from fear and towards just getting through each sit-up and push. One of the nurses told me as we got close to the end that if I looked down a little I would see the top of the baby's head. When I saw her little hair-covered crown, I knew the pushing was almost over!
Once our little girl was finally born, I remember feeling totally wiped out. The doctor instructed my husband how to cut the cord, nurses and the doctor were talking to me and saying wonderful things about the baby, and they placed her straight onto my chest, but I was out of it and barely aware of these goings-on. I think I had conversations with them but it was like I was on auto-pilot at that point! The doctor was still sitting down there, taking care of things, helping me deliver the placenta (which felt like an octopus slipping out) and stitching up my little tear, but I was physically emptied: there was no energy left. And at the same time I was holding our new baby. She felt warm on my chest.
I remember thinking during the latter parts of labor and definitely during the pushing phase that I never wanted to go through this again. It was so overwhelming to me, especially pushing, that I thought there would be no way I'd ever want to have another baby. However, I am starting to perceive the experience differently now that it's almost three weeks in the past. What they say seems to be true; you don't really remember the pain afterwards. Somehow it fades away as you get lost in taking care of your new baby. The whole experience was surreal, and even now, having a baby still seems surreal to me! Despite the strangeness of it all, I believe that, for me, labor and delivery was a grounding experience leading into this brand new chapter of life as a mommy.
When the pushing phase came, everything changed. Suddenly we weren't left to ourselves anymore; nurses came in the room and one checked me and said I was fully dilated. They called my doctor (whose voice when she entered the room made me start crying with relief!) and put me on the bed, which until that point I had not used. My doctor found out soon after we began that I still needed to dilate a bit more, so there was a short time of some pretty painful contractions during which I was lying there and had to refrain from pushing.
To me, pushing was definitely the hardest part of the whole process. I think it's because I felt out of control being on my back with my legs held up like they were. Also, I was more mentally prepared for getting through contractions, and they happened to me, whereas I had not expected pushing to be so difficult, and they required my extreme effort to be effective. By that point I was so tired, having been awake for nearly 24 hours, and suddenly I was basically doing sit-ups through which I had to hold my breath. At one point early on I thought I was going to faint; they started giving me oxygen in between contractions, and that helped a lot.
At the start of pushing, for the first time during the whole labor, I really thought I might not be able to do it, which was frightening. I voiced that thought and everyone encouraged me that I could do it, that I was doing it. I started focusing on my doctor and listening to her instructions. She kept telling me to push harder and then to rest when it was time to rest. The nurses counted out each push for me, 1 to 10, which helped, too. My husband was close by and wiped my forehead with a cool cloth from time to time. Eventually the doctor told the nurse to start a pitocin drip to strengthen my contractions so that the pushing would not take as long a time. That's the only thing about the labor and delivery that I feel somewhat disappointed about, but it is a minimal disappointment. At the time I felt glad that they were helping me to get through this phase in a shorter amount of time since I was feeling so exhausted, and looking back I think it was probably a good decision. I remember sensing a mental shift away from fear and towards just getting through each sit-up and push. One of the nurses told me as we got close to the end that if I looked down a little I would see the top of the baby's head. When I saw her little hair-covered crown, I knew the pushing was almost over!
Once our little girl was finally born, I remember feeling totally wiped out. The doctor instructed my husband how to cut the cord, nurses and the doctor were talking to me and saying wonderful things about the baby, and they placed her straight onto my chest, but I was out of it and barely aware of these goings-on. I think I had conversations with them but it was like I was on auto-pilot at that point! The doctor was still sitting down there, taking care of things, helping me deliver the placenta (which felt like an octopus slipping out) and stitching up my little tear, but I was physically emptied: there was no energy left. And at the same time I was holding our new baby. She felt warm on my chest.
I remember thinking during the latter parts of labor and definitely during the pushing phase that I never wanted to go through this again. It was so overwhelming to me, especially pushing, that I thought there would be no way I'd ever want to have another baby. However, I am starting to perceive the experience differently now that it's almost three weeks in the past. What they say seems to be true; you don't really remember the pain afterwards. Somehow it fades away as you get lost in taking care of your new baby. The whole experience was surreal, and even now, having a baby still seems surreal to me! Despite the strangeness of it all, I believe that, for me, labor and delivery was a grounding experience leading into this brand new chapter of life as a mommy.
Apr 22, 2015
Coping with "Lasts"
I am rushing to the end of something that's been part of my life for nearly five years now: my job as a college instructor. It feels more accurate to say that I am being rushed to the end of it, since the semester is going to stop, with or without my consent. This job has also been my first and only (aside from odds and ends or retail jobs here and there), which I started just after finishing grad school. You might say that my entire life has involved "doing school" in one way or another, in fact. The awareness that I'm encountering a series of "lasts" has pressed on my mind for a while now, and it certainly adds a bitterness to the sweet expectation of starting a new and exciting chapter of life when the baby is born this summer. Any kind of change is always difficult for me, and coming to the end of a thing can be particularly challenging.
In Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry often provides insightful comments along with lovely imagery through the narrator/protagonist, Jayber. The most recent such observation to strike my fancy was this:
I had read that passage last week, and then just this past Sunday, our pastor at church discussed the verses in John 4 where Jesus tells His disciples that the fields are ready for harvest (a spiritual harvest in the kingdom of God). One of the points the pastor made was that wherever God has placed us, whether it's a job or a neighborhood or a new country, is the field that we've been assigned. Rather than jealously looking at someone else's field or regretting the loss of a field we were in once before, we should focus on what God is doing in the current field around us.
Both of these "lessons," which arrived in such close succession, together strike me as God's gentle reminder that even though my upcoming transition may be a challenge, it is also a good thing. He will not keep me in the same field my entire life; there will be changes throughout, and my role no matter what is to trust that He places me with deliberate care and to serve within that placement. If my field suddenly seems smaller (a change from the sphere of the working world into the sphere of one little apartment with one little family), that does not make it less important. Rather than regret the end of my old position, I should let myself be wrapped up in the joy of my new field, whatever it looks like. A few little potted plants on a balcony can hold as much beauty and require as much careful attention as many acres planted with a crop of wheat.
In Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry often provides insightful comments along with lovely imagery through the narrator/protagonist, Jayber. The most recent such observation to strike my fancy was this:
Making the garden completed my departure from Port William. At that season I had naturally regretted giving up my garden in town. I had mourned over it, remembering the way the fresh young plants had looked in the long rows behind the shop. They had been art and music to me. But now I had planted another garden in another place in a different kind of ground, and expectation pulled my mind away.Jayber has experienced the end of one long and meaningful portion of his life and is transitioning to a new space and a new role. I admire the attitude, represented in this passage, that recognizes the validity of both mourning a loss and celebrating a new beginning with eager anticipation, but it sure is a tough attitude to maintain!
I had read that passage last week, and then just this past Sunday, our pastor at church discussed the verses in John 4 where Jesus tells His disciples that the fields are ready for harvest (a spiritual harvest in the kingdom of God). One of the points the pastor made was that wherever God has placed us, whether it's a job or a neighborhood or a new country, is the field that we've been assigned. Rather than jealously looking at someone else's field or regretting the loss of a field we were in once before, we should focus on what God is doing in the current field around us.
Both of these "lessons," which arrived in such close succession, together strike me as God's gentle reminder that even though my upcoming transition may be a challenge, it is also a good thing. He will not keep me in the same field my entire life; there will be changes throughout, and my role no matter what is to trust that He places me with deliberate care and to serve within that placement. If my field suddenly seems smaller (a change from the sphere of the working world into the sphere of one little apartment with one little family), that does not make it less important. Rather than regret the end of my old position, I should let myself be wrapped up in the joy of my new field, whatever it looks like. A few little potted plants on a balcony can hold as much beauty and require as much careful attention as many acres planted with a crop of wheat.
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| Coleus on My Balcony |
Feb 4, 2015
Purring Silently
Sometimes when I get home after being gone at work all day, I'm greeted with the warm, furry, willing cuddles of my cat. She's not always super cuddly, but when she is, she provides a special comfort which I especially cherish: her purr. The odd thing about my cat's purr is that it is nearly silent. If you don't have your hand firmly on her chest or upper back, or have your ear placed directly on her body, close to her heart, you won't know it's happening. Her purr is felt rather than heard.
It strikes me that my cat's silent purr, although not typical, is still an expression of her feeling secure and comfortable. It's a happy response from her. Just like her atypical, quiet but happy response, I sometimes tend to be reserved rather than outspoken in my expressions of happiness.
The feelings I've experienced during pregnancy so far (I'm about 22 weeks along) have been complex, to say the least! I haven't, however, ever really felt that exuberant, gushing over of emotional excitement that I've seen in my friends when they've gone through pregnancy. And so I have tended to question myself and to feel guilty: "Why don't I feel excited? Am I not happy to have a baby? What's wrong with me?"
Some of my close family and friends have reassured me that it's normal to feel apprehensive and that I'm just highly aware of the huge changes that a baby will bring, and so my excitement is naturally tempered. I've talked with a few ladies who have also, it turns out, had similar feelings of apprehension and lack of highly expressive happy feelings during their pregnancies. These talks helped me to realize I'm not abnormal; for good or ill, I just have a personality that tends to think ahead and take (what I perceive as) potentially negative or scary changes into account in my emotional responses. (I also tend to worry about the unknown, but that will have to be a different reflection!)
The talks with friends and family were invaluable, but perhaps my cat's purr has most tangibly helped me learn this encouraging lesson. Deep down, even though I may not express it without reservation, I have joy about the baby joining our family soon. It's OK for the joy to be shown atypically. Those closest to me, who can feel my heart, know and reassure me that it's there.
It strikes me that my cat's silent purr, although not typical, is still an expression of her feeling secure and comfortable. It's a happy response from her. Just like her atypical, quiet but happy response, I sometimes tend to be reserved rather than outspoken in my expressions of happiness.
The feelings I've experienced during pregnancy so far (I'm about 22 weeks along) have been complex, to say the least! I haven't, however, ever really felt that exuberant, gushing over of emotional excitement that I've seen in my friends when they've gone through pregnancy. And so I have tended to question myself and to feel guilty: "Why don't I feel excited? Am I not happy to have a baby? What's wrong with me?"
Some of my close family and friends have reassured me that it's normal to feel apprehensive and that I'm just highly aware of the huge changes that a baby will bring, and so my excitement is naturally tempered. I've talked with a few ladies who have also, it turns out, had similar feelings of apprehension and lack of highly expressive happy feelings during their pregnancies. These talks helped me to realize I'm not abnormal; for good or ill, I just have a personality that tends to think ahead and take (what I perceive as) potentially negative or scary changes into account in my emotional responses. (I also tend to worry about the unknown, but that will have to be a different reflection!)
The talks with friends and family were invaluable, but perhaps my cat's purr has most tangibly helped me learn this encouraging lesson. Deep down, even though I may not express it without reservation, I have joy about the baby joining our family soon. It's OK for the joy to be shown atypically. Those closest to me, who can feel my heart, know and reassure me that it's there.
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