As I sit listening to Ms. Ella Fitzgerald with Louie Armstrong on this cloudy Southern California song, I'm reminded of the love I had for singing. Strike that, have for singing. The first time I ever sang in front of a crowd it was at my 6th graduation. Then I was considered "the second best singer" by the "first best singer" in the school. She thought she was the best because she could hit Mariah Carey notes. Listen sister, hitting the notes does not make you Queen Butterfly. But I digress. We sang "A Whole New World." Of course I had to be 'the boy part' because I had a lower voice. This was to be my lot in life: Alto. The supporting structure to said Sopranos.
When I left my elementary school, I left my school district. My parents placed me in a private Jr High School, where I was one of two Latinas. My school was about 90% white and the other Latina, a Cuban, was blonde hair and blue eyed. I was big nosed, brown hair, thick eye browed Chica. It was in Jr High, that I really began to enjoy singing. My music teacher then, Mrs. Melody Dewitt (yes that was her name, and our PE teacher was Mr. Ball, I Shit you not) had an amazing voice and had this flightiness to her that only music teachers can have. She gave me my first solo, which I BUTCHERED in front of a 1st grade class. I mean I got the melody, but apparently I forgot the lyrics. Afterwards, a little kid came up to me and said, while giggling "you messed up." Yeah you little jerk I know!
Music was the source of my sanity, the voice to my gothiness, and the sound of the depression I struggled through my entire 8th grade year. When I got to high school I made sure I had choir in every semester. It was by my senior year that I felt so comfortable with my peers and teachers (because I had known them for a million years) that I could do solos without an uncontrollable falsetto or messing up lyrics. I did everything I could involving singing: freshman choir, girls choir, chamber choir, praise team, musicals. If there was singing, I was gonna do it. My poor dad kept hoping I'd sign up for Calculus or get that Sports Letter for my jacket. Instead he got intermissions and songs sang in Latin. My fondest memories was practicing or ending up at Denny's after a musical. I don't miss that time, because high school did blow at times, but I look upon that time with such fondness that I hope my future children have the chance to do the same, with the same wholesomeness I did.
I was in the Bel Canto Choir at APU with a singing scholarship that gave you barely enough money to buy one semester of books and committed you to a year of bubbly Christian girls who sounded like Disney Princesses. I don't sound like a Disney Princess. It was in that first year of college that I lost my voice. My experience in this choir was not something I enjoyed, mostly because I was just 1 of 100 voices, and was struggling with my own issues with Faith. I didn't feel like belonged with any of the girls there. And being asked by random strangers about my "personal relationship with Jesus Christ" didn't help. Out of 100 girls, I clicked with about 3, and my one home skillet (with a voice that is Amaze-Balls) left. At the end of this Freshman year we were 'contractually obligated' as part of the scholarship to do a 2 week tour of California. On a Bus. I found out a lot about myself on this journey, how to be happy with myself, how to convene with God alone. But I lost something really important. I lost my voice and my desire to sing. I went 4 years without singing then I sang in public was when I lived in Mexico and made it to the finals of a singing competition for my rendition of "All that Jazz" (From Chicago). I hated it, I understand why singers drink. I don't do well with stage fright, and I couldn't control my voice. I lost to a Mariachi chick, and once again lost my voice. I also grew to hate that one song from Chicago.
It wasn't until my wedding day that I was able to sing in front of people, to my husband and our guests. I could do it, because I was surrounded by my homies, my pose, my family. The people I knew wouldn't judge me for a cracked voice, or a too strung out vibrato. I felt nervous for a second and I was able to sing again for the someone.For me to sing, I have to sing for a reason: to praise, for love, to act. I think the reason why my experience with my college choir took it out of me, was it felt too commercial and I felt too disconnected from everyone.
I'm finding my voice again, even if I'm only singing in the shower, or in the car, because I'm not muting my feelings, and I'm allowing myself to let go and belt out whatever feels right in my soul. Everyone has their own song, some it's running, other's drawing, it's that thing that moves and heals your soul. Make room in your life to sing your song and voice.
Now excuse me while I go sing "Wrecking Ball" while I clean the kitchen.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Thursday, November 7, 2013
6 years a Therapist.
On November 5th, I entered my 6th year anniversary at my non-profit mental health agency. I have been in this field for 7 years (1 year internship while I was in the graduate program) and I enjoy it because it's a field that always challenges me.
When I had the chance to work with graduate students I gave them a few pieces of advice
1) Find an agency that will teach you while you learn the ropes of DMH paperwork. DMH paperwork was not taught to you as a grad student and requires almost a year (or for me 2) just to get a handle on it.
2) Accept that you will never be caught up you over-achieving glorious goons! It's ok, accept it and walk away
3) Find what works with your energy. I work best at the beginning of the week and taper out in energy as the week progresses, I schedule more clients on Monday Tuesday than Wednesday and Thursday. Some people are the opposite.
4) Above all, take care of yourself. You are a well of support, empathy, and understanding. Make sure you are always filled with what brings you joy and life, or else you will run dry, rendering you empty. Take care of yourself.
I have heard some pretty horrific stories of abuse, deceit, lies, and all around awfulness. I have been yelled at, challenged, and been complained about to my boss. I once actually had to save a 10 min rant on my voicemail because I called DCFS on a parent just to cover my ass. It was crazy, and I wish I still had it. Working with LA County DMH standards is enough to test anyone's tolerance. The mountains of paperwork, the productivity demands, and the constant change and push for evidence based practice can drive you batty. The current climate of health care reform has been challenging for many of us. Evidence Based Practice can suck to soul out of the most promising therapists. This field is not for the weak of heart or the weak of soul. However hard the day is, the week, or the fiscal year I have still managed to keep my faith in humanity. I still find the energy to do what do and here is why:
1) My clients: Not all my clients are gems or the most enjoyable people to care for, but when you find that flicker of desire to change it's amazing. You see that that person wants to change and wants you to be a catalyst for that change. It's pretty awesome
2) I now have mad UNO skills. I challenge you to an UNO duel, I'll win.
3) The ugly: When you hear about abuse in such graphic detail as I and my colleagues have had to you wonder how can you keep going. It's the trust behind the ugly is what keeps me hopeful. You trust me to hold all that awful in your life. For a moment I can carry the weight of it for you, even though you go on living with it every day.
4) Group Supervision: man, learning different techniques from new therapists and group supervisors is amazing. You can never learn too much.
5) My colleagues/friends. I am surrounded by incredibly smart, empathetic, driven women (and men-but they are few in this field). They are the reason why I haven't lost faith in humanity, because of what they do when they are in the trenches of mental illness. Not only have these women supported me professionally, but they have also supplied me with female camaraderie that every woman should have by my age.
So, may I have many more years in this field, and still maintain the level of hope and faith in me to continue to give to others. Because the only way to survive in this field is to continue to have faith the the human spirit and the human desire to change.
When I had the chance to work with graduate students I gave them a few pieces of advice
1) Find an agency that will teach you while you learn the ropes of DMH paperwork. DMH paperwork was not taught to you as a grad student and requires almost a year (or for me 2) just to get a handle on it.
2) Accept that you will never be caught up you over-achieving glorious goons! It's ok, accept it and walk away
3) Find what works with your energy. I work best at the beginning of the week and taper out in energy as the week progresses, I schedule more clients on Monday Tuesday than Wednesday and Thursday. Some people are the opposite.
4) Above all, take care of yourself. You are a well of support, empathy, and understanding. Make sure you are always filled with what brings you joy and life, or else you will run dry, rendering you empty. Take care of yourself.
I have heard some pretty horrific stories of abuse, deceit, lies, and all around awfulness. I have been yelled at, challenged, and been complained about to my boss. I once actually had to save a 10 min rant on my voicemail because I called DCFS on a parent just to cover my ass. It was crazy, and I wish I still had it. Working with LA County DMH standards is enough to test anyone's tolerance. The mountains of paperwork, the productivity demands, and the constant change and push for evidence based practice can drive you batty. The current climate of health care reform has been challenging for many of us. Evidence Based Practice can suck to soul out of the most promising therapists. This field is not for the weak of heart or the weak of soul. However hard the day is, the week, or the fiscal year I have still managed to keep my faith in humanity. I still find the energy to do what do and here is why:
1) My clients: Not all my clients are gems or the most enjoyable people to care for, but when you find that flicker of desire to change it's amazing. You see that that person wants to change and wants you to be a catalyst for that change. It's pretty awesome
2) I now have mad UNO skills. I challenge you to an UNO duel, I'll win.
3) The ugly: When you hear about abuse in such graphic detail as I and my colleagues have had to you wonder how can you keep going. It's the trust behind the ugly is what keeps me hopeful. You trust me to hold all that awful in your life. For a moment I can carry the weight of it for you, even though you go on living with it every day.
4) Group Supervision: man, learning different techniques from new therapists and group supervisors is amazing. You can never learn too much.
5) My colleagues/friends. I am surrounded by incredibly smart, empathetic, driven women (and men-but they are few in this field). They are the reason why I haven't lost faith in humanity, because of what they do when they are in the trenches of mental illness. Not only have these women supported me professionally, but they have also supplied me with female camaraderie that every woman should have by my age.
So, may I have many more years in this field, and still maintain the level of hope and faith in me to continue to give to others. Because the only way to survive in this field is to continue to have faith the the human spirit and the human desire to change.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Faith, Feminism, and F-Bombs
Lets get a couple things straight.
1) I'm a Christian. I believe in God and Jesus. I believe that Jesus died for my sins and was a radical liberal.
2) I'm a Feminist. This means I don't hate men and I don't burn bras (because they're expensive). I simply believe that women should be treated as equals to men. We're different I get that, but one is not superior to the other.
3) I cuss. Not a lot, but enough to add emphasis like "SHIT that FUCKING hurt!" or "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" when I'm really just tired of the day to day bullshit.
My faith in God has probably been the thing that has kept me most even keeled, calm, and OK during some different times in my life. Prayer during my long runs have helped me immensely. I have my doubts about religion and churches, I'm wary of any mass group of people being led by one person. I'm skeptical of men (as in human beings, not as a just men) but I'm not skeptical in God. I often wonder if He looks down at us with face palming all day. I believe the Bible can serve as guide, but I also can't ignore the fact that it was written by us flawed human beings. God talking to us is like pouring the purest water through a janky filter. If we go into the whole sin/original sin thing I think there is some validity to this. There are a lot of things I don't understand, and I accept that I may never understand it. I once had a professor who summed it up perfectly " A person trying to understand God is like trying to look through a stained glass window. You get an idea of what's out there but you don't get a clear picture." I like having something bigger than me.
"when my heart is overwhelmed: Lead me to the rock that is higher than I" Psalm 61:2
2) When the Bible was being written, chances are it was totally being written by a dude. I mean oppression of women isn't something new people, it's been going on since like forever. Machismo and Religion are like homies. Hence why I take some Biblical passages with a grain of salt. The Bible is a reflection of its times. But I digress, I'm a Feminist. I believe in the whole equal pay for equal work. I believe in a woman's right to chose for her body and her career. If you want to stay home, stay home. If you want to work, work. The women's movement has allowed for us to have more options. I also believe that Feminism benefits men, because it allows flexibility in all our roles. So much of roles is tied up with sexuality (no bueno), but it's good for everyone. Equality is a good thing. Equality is sexy. Equality for everyone YEI!
3) Some people say 'cussing is unlady like' but I say fuck it. What does it mean to be a Lady? Who defined that? (Well that's a whole other blog discussion). I try to curb the cussing around kids, because well, no one wants to hear a 5 year old say 'shit head.' I just like to pepper it in, you know, for flavor. Not like, every other word, just a little emphasis.
I felt the need to write this blog because I've had people say "Oh I didn't know you were a Christian" because why? Because I don't memorize Bible verses, or attend church every Sunday. If 10 years of private school education has taught is that the most "Christian" Christians were some of the most hypocritical awful people I have ever met. It was in these Christian schools where I heard racist terms said to me and people were straight up mean because I looked different. If we can get passed the label of "good" Christian to real Christian I think people would probably like us more. We're flawed, multifaceted people. I hate that so many out there associated my faith with hypocrisy and hate with Christianity.
This is me being real: I'm a Christian who cusses and believes in equal rights for women and the LGBTQ community. I'm a Christian who struggles with her faith, who misses a good praise song.I didn't get married a virgin (but mad props to those who did!) . I am what I am, I make no apologize, and to quote the great philosopher 2Pac: "Only God can judge me."
1) I'm a Christian. I believe in God and Jesus. I believe that Jesus died for my sins and was a radical liberal.
2) I'm a Feminist. This means I don't hate men and I don't burn bras (because they're expensive). I simply believe that women should be treated as equals to men. We're different I get that, but one is not superior to the other.
3) I cuss. Not a lot, but enough to add emphasis like "SHIT that FUCKING hurt!" or "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" when I'm really just tired of the day to day bullshit.
My faith in God has probably been the thing that has kept me most even keeled, calm, and OK during some different times in my life. Prayer during my long runs have helped me immensely. I have my doubts about religion and churches, I'm wary of any mass group of people being led by one person. I'm skeptical of men (as in human beings, not as a just men) but I'm not skeptical in God. I often wonder if He looks down at us with face palming all day. I believe the Bible can serve as guide, but I also can't ignore the fact that it was written by us flawed human beings. God talking to us is like pouring the purest water through a janky filter. If we go into the whole sin/original sin thing I think there is some validity to this. There are a lot of things I don't understand, and I accept that I may never understand it. I once had a professor who summed it up perfectly " A person trying to understand God is like trying to look through a stained glass window. You get an idea of what's out there but you don't get a clear picture." I like having something bigger than me.
"when my heart is overwhelmed: Lead me to the rock that is higher than I" Psalm 61:2
2) When the Bible was being written, chances are it was totally being written by a dude. I mean oppression of women isn't something new people, it's been going on since like forever. Machismo and Religion are like homies. Hence why I take some Biblical passages with a grain of salt. The Bible is a reflection of its times. But I digress, I'm a Feminist. I believe in the whole equal pay for equal work. I believe in a woman's right to chose for her body and her career. If you want to stay home, stay home. If you want to work, work. The women's movement has allowed for us to have more options. I also believe that Feminism benefits men, because it allows flexibility in all our roles. So much of roles is tied up with sexuality (no bueno), but it's good for everyone. Equality is a good thing. Equality is sexy. Equality for everyone YEI!
3) Some people say 'cussing is unlady like' but I say fuck it. What does it mean to be a Lady? Who defined that? (Well that's a whole other blog discussion). I try to curb the cussing around kids, because well, no one wants to hear a 5 year old say 'shit head.' I just like to pepper it in, you know, for flavor. Not like, every other word, just a little emphasis.
I felt the need to write this blog because I've had people say "Oh I didn't know you were a Christian" because why? Because I don't memorize Bible verses, or attend church every Sunday. If 10 years of private school education has taught is that the most "Christian" Christians were some of the most hypocritical awful people I have ever met. It was in these Christian schools where I heard racist terms said to me and people were straight up mean because I looked different. If we can get passed the label of "good" Christian to real Christian I think people would probably like us more. We're flawed, multifaceted people. I hate that so many out there associated my faith with hypocrisy and hate with Christianity.
This is me being real: I'm a Christian who cusses and believes in equal rights for women and the LGBTQ community. I'm a Christian who struggles with her faith, who misses a good praise song.I didn't get married a virgin (but mad props to those who did!) . I am what I am, I make no apologize, and to quote the great philosopher 2Pac: "Only God can judge me."
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
The Unknown Runner
This past weekend I got the chance to experience some serious physical endurance. I completed my first triathlon (A sprint with abysmal results, but who cares, I finished it) and I got the chance to check off the Nike Women's Run series off my running bucket list.
As I flew up to San Fran to meet up with a friend who was also running it, I heard women on the plane talking about it, women on the shuttle discussing nerves, and women carb loading in local Italian joints. I got the chance to meet a woman (my friend's friend) who was making this her first 1/2 marathon. It was exciting to talk about where to put the glide and how to avoid chafe. I remember waking up at 1 thinking "I forgot to tell her not to stop running if she gets tired or else she might cramp!" The waiting in the corral was impressive. I was surrounded by women cheering, dancing to "who runs the world." I saw a few good men there ready to get their run on for a Tiffany's necklace. It was an amazing energy. I felt really empowered as a woman.
I always break down my 1/2 marathons into 3 sections: just get to mile 6, then get to mile 10, then 3 more miles. It helps me mentally. After ascending and descending like a mad woman I turned the foggy corner that would lead me to the .1 of the whole 13.1 affair. I saw that beautiful Tiffany blue finish. I was ready to do my crazy face finish for the cameras, however as I got closer I noticed something was off.
Something was out of place in that place of joy we call the finish line.
I saw a man laying on the floor right before the finish. He was surrounded by paramedics, his friends and/or family, and a stretcher. As I got closer, I saw the awful sight of this runner getting chest compressions. I've read of runners collapsing, having heart attacks, but I've never been close to see the aftermath.
The joyful yells and exuberant faces were such a contrast to the look of worry on the face of the woman next to him. She was wrapped in a Mylar blanket, on the phone. Her face sticks out. It didn't make sense, the whole scene didn't make sense.
The finish of a race is a celebration of life and triumph. It's amazing and exhausting and to see the jarring sight of one of my running family down was hard.
I think about him.
Did he survive? Did he pass away?
Did he make it? Is he recuperating in some hospital? If so, will he be able to run again?
I think about his family and friends. It was great having my mom meet me at the finish line and my friends giving me mad props on facebook. I think about this runner's family, who came to wish him luck and who had to face the possible horror of losing someone. I wonder if instead of celebrating a triumph they are grieving a loss.
I wonder about this unknown runner. If he passed away, did he pass away doing what he loved? I hope he did not suffer. Whenever I meet other runners I feel like we're in a secret insane club that few know about. To see a runner down is to see someone in our secret club down. It hits too close to home, because that could have been any one of us.
To the unknown runner: I hope your ok and you can keep feeling the burn and the shin splints. If you've moved passed this plane into the other, know that I'll think of you on my next run and say a prayer for your family and friends. I'll invent a new memory to replace the tragic one. I'll imagine a man with the fog in his face, getting that runner's high, planning for the next big race.
As I flew up to San Fran to meet up with a friend who was also running it, I heard women on the plane talking about it, women on the shuttle discussing nerves, and women carb loading in local Italian joints. I got the chance to meet a woman (my friend's friend) who was making this her first 1/2 marathon. It was exciting to talk about where to put the glide and how to avoid chafe. I remember waking up at 1 thinking "I forgot to tell her not to stop running if she gets tired or else she might cramp!" The waiting in the corral was impressive. I was surrounded by women cheering, dancing to "who runs the world." I saw a few good men there ready to get their run on for a Tiffany's necklace. It was an amazing energy. I felt really empowered as a woman.
I always break down my 1/2 marathons into 3 sections: just get to mile 6, then get to mile 10, then 3 more miles. It helps me mentally. After ascending and descending like a mad woman I turned the foggy corner that would lead me to the .1 of the whole 13.1 affair. I saw that beautiful Tiffany blue finish. I was ready to do my crazy face finish for the cameras, however as I got closer I noticed something was off.
Something was out of place in that place of joy we call the finish line.
I saw a man laying on the floor right before the finish. He was surrounded by paramedics, his friends and/or family, and a stretcher. As I got closer, I saw the awful sight of this runner getting chest compressions. I've read of runners collapsing, having heart attacks, but I've never been close to see the aftermath.
The joyful yells and exuberant faces were such a contrast to the look of worry on the face of the woman next to him. She was wrapped in a Mylar blanket, on the phone. Her face sticks out. It didn't make sense, the whole scene didn't make sense.
The finish of a race is a celebration of life and triumph. It's amazing and exhausting and to see the jarring sight of one of my running family down was hard.
I think about him.
Did he survive? Did he pass away?
Did he make it? Is he recuperating in some hospital? If so, will he be able to run again?
I think about his family and friends. It was great having my mom meet me at the finish line and my friends giving me mad props on facebook. I think about this runner's family, who came to wish him luck and who had to face the possible horror of losing someone. I wonder if instead of celebrating a triumph they are grieving a loss.
I wonder about this unknown runner. If he passed away, did he pass away doing what he loved? I hope he did not suffer. Whenever I meet other runners I feel like we're in a secret insane club that few know about. To see a runner down is to see someone in our secret club down. It hits too close to home, because that could have been any one of us.
To the unknown runner: I hope your ok and you can keep feeling the burn and the shin splints. If you've moved passed this plane into the other, know that I'll think of you on my next run and say a prayer for your family and friends. I'll invent a new memory to replace the tragic one. I'll imagine a man with the fog in his face, getting that runner's high, planning for the next big race.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
100% Latina
So I'm prepping a game for my Latin Heritage month celebration tomorrow at work. Listening to the arrays of music I've been exposed to since my childhood makes me proud not only to be a Latina.
My Mexican family taught me to appreciate the beauty of a Huapango (btw if you have never heard the Huapango de Mocayo- you're missing it, it's an amazing piece of work). I mean that song moves me like Gerswhin's Rhapsody in Blue.
My dad will always teach me to appreciate the romantic songs of trios and sons.
My mother taught me how to sway to vallenatos and break a sweat with merengues.
This only lead to my love of Bossa Nova and Samba, which moves me like no other.
My Mexican family taught me to appreciate the beauty of a Huapango (btw if you have never heard the Huapango de Mocayo- you're missing it, it's an amazing piece of work). I mean that song moves me like Gerswhin's Rhapsody in Blue.
My dad will always teach me to appreciate the romantic songs of trios and sons.
My mother taught me how to sway to vallenatos and break a sweat with merengues.
This only lead to my love of Bossa Nova and Samba, which moves me like no other.
I'm always proud to be Latina, to be Salvadorean, but today I'm a little more proud :)
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
The first loves and the last love and the love of your life
During this time of the year, I always like to take a moment and relive when Scott and I started dating. We have no official start date to dating, and our official anniversary is in December. But this time of the year will always hold a very fond place in my heart.
Everyone thinks that their first love is the love of their life, and for some that might be the case. I thought so too. See, I know it's a news flash but Scott and I probably (most likely) loved other people before we met. Heck I'd hope so, first loves serve as experience and teach us so much about our selves and how we relate to the world around us.
I thought my first love was the love of my life. Until he totally annihilated my tiny 13 year old heart. Yes I believe 13 year old's can fall in love, at least within the capacity of their own 13 year old hearts. Then I thought who I thought was the love of my life was going to my last love. It was a long relationship, tumultuous, and filled with drama. See I believe there are two first loves in your life: the first one is unrequited and the other reciprocated.
My first love taught me a lot of good and bad things about myself: He taught me to appreciate jazz, odd music, and the importance of trust in a relationship. Those are good things I have carried over, because irregardless of how we end our relationships, I hope that we can all take good things away from them as well as the scars they leave us. The bad things I learned about myself were plenty: that I was capable of loosing myself in someone, that I'd prioritize this person over my family and friends, that I'd be willing to sacrifice everything for one person who was not willing to give anything back except only love. Yes, love is very important, but love isn't everything. Love combined with understanding, support, acceptance, inclusion is everything. But love alone isn't sufficient.
Enter my last love: the love of my life. I used to feel that I couldn't call Scott the love of my life because I had pissed away that title on someone else, because I had called someone else that I felt like Scott didn't deserve a second hand statement. I honestly couldn't find a better one, because he deserved something above "love of my life." Scott is my best friend. Hands down homie/thug FO LYFE! Over the past 6 years (6 years by the end of September) I have learned that Scott can be called the love of my life because he is just that. I was simply wrong the first time. I mean honestly, how can I bank on the promise of a deluded 22 year old?
Scott is the love of my life for so many reasons. Mostly because it's more than just love that keeps us together, its everything else that keeps love going that he offers. Companionship, support, inclusion, understanding. In the 6 years we've been together I've never felt like I've needed to compromise who I am to be with him. That is why he is the love of my life.
I love you Scott, happy 6 years this month. May we be blessed with 60 more :)
Everyone thinks that their first love is the love of their life, and for some that might be the case. I thought so too. See, I know it's a news flash but Scott and I probably (most likely) loved other people before we met. Heck I'd hope so, first loves serve as experience and teach us so much about our selves and how we relate to the world around us.
I thought my first love was the love of my life. Until he totally annihilated my tiny 13 year old heart. Yes I believe 13 year old's can fall in love, at least within the capacity of their own 13 year old hearts. Then I thought who I thought was the love of my life was going to my last love. It was a long relationship, tumultuous, and filled with drama. See I believe there are two first loves in your life: the first one is unrequited and the other reciprocated.
My first love taught me a lot of good and bad things about myself: He taught me to appreciate jazz, odd music, and the importance of trust in a relationship. Those are good things I have carried over, because irregardless of how we end our relationships, I hope that we can all take good things away from them as well as the scars they leave us. The bad things I learned about myself were plenty: that I was capable of loosing myself in someone, that I'd prioritize this person over my family and friends, that I'd be willing to sacrifice everything for one person who was not willing to give anything back except only love. Yes, love is very important, but love isn't everything. Love combined with understanding, support, acceptance, inclusion is everything. But love alone isn't sufficient.
Enter my last love: the love of my life. I used to feel that I couldn't call Scott the love of my life because I had pissed away that title on someone else, because I had called someone else that I felt like Scott didn't deserve a second hand statement. I honestly couldn't find a better one, because he deserved something above "love of my life." Scott is my best friend. Hands down homie/thug FO LYFE! Over the past 6 years (6 years by the end of September) I have learned that Scott can be called the love of my life because he is just that. I was simply wrong the first time. I mean honestly, how can I bank on the promise of a deluded 22 year old?
Scott is the love of my life for so many reasons. Mostly because it's more than just love that keeps us together, its everything else that keeps love going that he offers. Companionship, support, inclusion, understanding. In the 6 years we've been together I've never felt like I've needed to compromise who I am to be with him. That is why he is the love of my life.
I love you Scott, happy 6 years this month. May we be blessed with 60 more :)
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The things that horrify me about becoming a mom
For years and years I swore I was never going to never have children, up until 6 years ago that is. When I met my now husband I knew probably into our second date that I wanted him to be 'my baby daddy.' Luckily he didn't run in the opposite direction when I told him this on our third date.
Flash forward now. There is talk of beh-behs. My non-catholic mother is lighting candles for me during her Barcelona trip for a womb invasion. Switching into the possibility of motherhood isn't easy for me. There are times when I pray I was totally knocked up. This usually happens when I see an incredibly cute ass baby or see really cute clothes at target. Then there are other times when I'm glad I'm not. This usually happens on Friday/Saturday nights when I'm drinking with my girlfriends or quietly watching a crappy scary movie in my quiet home shared with my husband.
I'm very happy with my life, I feel that is complete even without the kid. I could be happy without having children, because I don't feel like they're missing from my life. BUT I also know that I would like to have one or two. I don't idolize motherhood, I'm pretty real about my thoughts about it. But I'm also pretty horrified/intriguied by becoming a mom. Let me share some of my fears.
1) BODY MOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPHING!
I think there is a lot of misconception that some women just immediately bounce into wanting to be a mom. I'm one of those women. I mean just the idea of my body changing is enough to pretty much horrify me. Now, before you say "oh but it's wonderful, it'll be great." I'm pretty sure it will be at times, and other times it wont be. The way I see it, I've spent the last 12 years of life taking care of my figure. Ok, scratch that, the last 6 years, because things are just harder to keep in place than they were at 19. I'd love to say that I'm cool enough with my body that when pregnancy comes I won't be phased, but I will be. Blame society for putting so much emphasis on a woman's appearance, I've bought it hook line and sinker. So coming to terms with the fact that my body will look different is very difficult to me.
2) The loss of independence
no more eating sushi by myself with a good book or journal (at least not that often), this makes me sad.
3) Mood swings
I already experience mood swings with my cycle, I can't even imagine the hell I will experience when I become pregnant
4) My friendships will change
I love my girlfriends. I mean LOOOOOOOOOOOVE EM! I know I will gain mommy friends, but I don't want to lose my non-mommy friends. Will they leave me out? Will I get upset when I'm not tagged in pictures? Will my husband do me a solid and take care of the little one so I can go out? OH MY GAWD, are my beach days and mimosa significantly reduced?
5) The Judgement
I don't deal well with being judged, so I can see me losing my shit on someone for judging me. But it's so unfair that as women we have to be so harsh with one another. But here are the judgments I fear I may cuss someone out on:
- breast feeding vs bottle feeding
- working vs not working
- me not thinking motherhood is some AMAAAAAAAAZING thing, it's life changing, but I just don't think its the end all be all.
- spanking vs not spanking
- judging my discipline
- me keeping my cats
- everything
6) Post partum Depression
I've had depressive episodes in the past. I haven't had them in a long time, but I've had them. I fear that this may happen
7) Torn perineum and/or pooping mid birth
- this needs NO explanation
8) My kid being a jerk/bully
- I genuinely hope I don't give birth to douche bag of a kid. It can happen even to the nicest parents. I have met some adult asses who's parents are FANTASTIC. Douchey Kids- It can happen to you!
9) Change in my relationship with my husband
- We have a good thing going: my husband and I. Let's be real, babies do not improve a relationship. They are a major stress and stress isn't good for a relationship. So, I'm a little freaked out about that whole thing.
10) The guilt
- The guilt about working while my kid is at home or under someone elses care. My hat goes off to all my lady friends who work and have kids. I don't know how you do it. You're ninjas and amazing badasses. I miss my cats when I'm at work, I can't even imagine what I'll feel when I have a kid.
Becoming a mom is no joke. It's not easy, it's not pretty, and it's down right scary. My attitude towards becoming a mom is the attitude I have when I go on a ride at Magic Mountain. I'm both excited yet HORRIFIED at what I'm about to experience. I know I'll get through it exhilirated, but there will be that moment, when you're at the top and you begin to question the sanity of your decision. But by then it's too late, you just have to hold on for the ride of your life.
Flash forward now. There is talk of beh-behs. My non-catholic mother is lighting candles for me during her Barcelona trip for a womb invasion. Switching into the possibility of motherhood isn't easy for me. There are times when I pray I was totally knocked up. This usually happens when I see an incredibly cute ass baby or see really cute clothes at target. Then there are other times when I'm glad I'm not. This usually happens on Friday/Saturday nights when I'm drinking with my girlfriends or quietly watching a crappy scary movie in my quiet home shared with my husband.
I'm very happy with my life, I feel that is complete even without the kid. I could be happy without having children, because I don't feel like they're missing from my life. BUT I also know that I would like to have one or two. I don't idolize motherhood, I'm pretty real about my thoughts about it. But I'm also pretty horrified/intriguied by becoming a mom. Let me share some of my fears.
1) BODY MOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPHING!
I think there is a lot of misconception that some women just immediately bounce into wanting to be a mom. I'm one of those women. I mean just the idea of my body changing is enough to pretty much horrify me. Now, before you say "oh but it's wonderful, it'll be great." I'm pretty sure it will be at times, and other times it wont be. The way I see it, I've spent the last 12 years of life taking care of my figure. Ok, scratch that, the last 6 years, because things are just harder to keep in place than they were at 19. I'd love to say that I'm cool enough with my body that when pregnancy comes I won't be phased, but I will be. Blame society for putting so much emphasis on a woman's appearance, I've bought it hook line and sinker. So coming to terms with the fact that my body will look different is very difficult to me.
 |
| This is my internal reference of child birth |
2) The loss of independence
no more eating sushi by myself with a good book or journal (at least not that often), this makes me sad.
3) Mood swings
I already experience mood swings with my cycle, I can't even imagine the hell I will experience when I become pregnant
4) My friendships will change
I love my girlfriends. I mean LOOOOOOOOOOOVE EM! I know I will gain mommy friends, but I don't want to lose my non-mommy friends. Will they leave me out? Will I get upset when I'm not tagged in pictures? Will my husband do me a solid and take care of the little one so I can go out? OH MY GAWD, are my beach days and mimosa significantly reduced?
5) The Judgement
I don't deal well with being judged, so I can see me losing my shit on someone for judging me. But it's so unfair that as women we have to be so harsh with one another. But here are the judgments I fear I may cuss someone out on:
- breast feeding vs bottle feeding
- working vs not working
- me not thinking motherhood is some AMAAAAAAAAZING thing, it's life changing, but I just don't think its the end all be all.
- spanking vs not spanking
- judging my discipline
- me keeping my cats
- everything
6) Post partum Depression
I've had depressive episodes in the past. I haven't had them in a long time, but I've had them. I fear that this may happen
7) Torn perineum and/or pooping mid birth
- this needs NO explanation
8) My kid being a jerk/bully
- I genuinely hope I don't give birth to douche bag of a kid. It can happen even to the nicest parents. I have met some adult asses who's parents are FANTASTIC. Douchey Kids- It can happen to you!
 |
| Even Cersei grew tired of his shit |
9) Change in my relationship with my husband
- We have a good thing going: my husband and I. Let's be real, babies do not improve a relationship. They are a major stress and stress isn't good for a relationship. So, I'm a little freaked out about that whole thing.
10) The guilt
- The guilt about working while my kid is at home or under someone elses care. My hat goes off to all my lady friends who work and have kids. I don't know how you do it. You're ninjas and amazing badasses. I miss my cats when I'm at work, I can't even imagine what I'll feel when I have a kid.
Becoming a mom is no joke. It's not easy, it's not pretty, and it's down right scary. My attitude towards becoming a mom is the attitude I have when I go on a ride at Magic Mountain. I'm both excited yet HORRIFIED at what I'm about to experience. I know I'll get through it exhilirated, but there will be that moment, when you're at the top and you begin to question the sanity of your decision. But by then it's too late, you just have to hold on for the ride of your life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)