Friday, June 29, 2012

Sharing and Growing

Today, I was so honored to have one of my pieces chosen for the front page of my favorite site Postpartum Progress. This blog site has been an incredible resource to me while I have been on my journey through PPD.  The women who share here are AMAZING.  I am blessed to know them and each of their hearts. And I was completely blown away when I got the email telling me that I was chosen to share a piece of my own.

It has been a rough week.  A horrible, terrible, rough week.  And someday, when I have fully processed just how sad of a week this has been for our little family, I will blog about it and share my thoughts.  But for now, for today, being confirmed that my words have meaning, was exactly what I needed to hear.  I wasn't expecting this to be posted anytime soon, let alone on the front page, which is why I feel so incredibly honored.

In a way, it was comforting to be reminded that sharing my struggles is good and worthwhile. That my struggles in and of themselves can be good and worthwhile.  Not easy.  Not understandable.  But necessary for the growth of who I am and who I am still becoming as a person. And for that, this week, I am so incredibly grateful.  I am thankful that even in the midst of inexplicable pain and suffering, the Lord brings us to a new place.  To a place of relying on others and ultimately on Him.

With all of that said, here's a bit of my blog piece that I was honored to share with Postpartum Progress this morning.  Thank you to fellow Warrior Mom, Katherine Stone, for allowing me to share my story.

On Owning Your Struggle with Postpartum Depression

So proud to have Warrior Mom Brittany with us today, sharing her story and why she’s not afraid to be open about her struggle with postpartum depression.
I have dreamed my entire life of becoming a mom. Some of my fondest memories as a child are of mothering my plastic baby dolls and loving on them as if their cotton insides actually held a beating heart. As a doe-eyed teenager, I used to picture what life would be like when my boyfriend and I could finally marry and start a family together. And then suddenly, we were there. We had finished college, married and were living the dream life together in our favorite city. We talked about waiting to have babies, but when it came down to it we wanted to share the memories we were making together with our children.
We started trying for a baby, and before long I was pregnant and barefoot. Literally … I went barefoot to one of my baby showers. We spent nine blissful months “oohing” and “aahhing” over blurry ultrasound photos, meticulously decorating a nursery and waiting anxiously for our baby girl to arrive.
And then she was born. Blonde and blue-eyed and all 6 lbs 9 oz of her was perfect. I remember holding her the day she was born. She was bundled like a burrito and sleeping so peacefully in my arms. My husband remarked that she was like a tiny angel. That night we took rotating hour-long shifts to stay awake with her while the other would sleep. We worried that if we left her alone for all but one minute we would wake to find our baby not breathing and our dream dissolved into thin air. Maybe this first night was a foreshadowing of the anxiety-ridden days to come. 
You can read the rest of the blog post here.  
Next Friday I am excited to be the guest blogger for another one of my favorite sites Just.Be.Enough. It too is an incredible site.  Don't we all, deep down, just want to be enough? I love the ladies who run this site because that's what they encourage.  Living to be enough.
Can't wait to share my own "Just be enough" story with you next week,
Brittany


Monday, June 11, 2012

DIY: Mosaic Mirror

In light of all of the serious posts I've shared lately, I figured it might be time to lighten up the mood and share one of our DIY projects that we've been working on.  I'm a little proud of myself for this one because it actually wasn't an idea that I borrowed from Pinterest.  

Last spring, my boss taught me (and our resident crafters) how to make mosaic birdhouses.  So a few months back I got the idea to create a mosaic mirror for our formal entryway/living room.  I started by collecting various plates and pottery in various blue and green shades.  I bought from The Dollar Tree and from the Salvation Army (during their holiday 50% off sales).  In total, the plates and pottery cost $5.
Next, I bought a flat piece of solid wood... this was a score I found in the "as is" section of Ikea for just $3.99.  I'm not sure what it was originally intended to be but it was perfect (and cheap!) for this project.
This round mirror also came from Ikea for $15.00.
We used the product "Liquid Nails" ($4.00) to attach the mirror to the backing.

These "C Clamps" were from Home Depot and cost under $1.00 each.
We left them on for 24 hours to make sure that the liquid nails was completely dry.

 I've discovered that one of the ways I stay sane in this journey of parenting is to always, always involve my daughter in my projects.  It would be easy to brush her away and tell her to go play toys.  But really, what does that accomplish?  I would feel annoyed and she would have her feelings hurt.  She's three and she wants to be just like her mommy.  So, I let her join in.  And this was no exception.  Watch my rock star girl as she shatters some dishes and pottery.  This was definitely our favorite part!




My beautiful girl!
See?  Doesn't she look so excited! 
Next we used clear tile glue ($3.00) to attach the broken plates and glass.  
When all of the pieces were glued on... we took a several day break.  This was tough work!
Eventually we got to the messy part.
Plaster of Paris is a powder that, when mixed 2 parts to 1 part water, creates....goop. Or grout.  Whatever. Regardless, it was messy.  We also mixed in some gold acrylic paint to give the color a tint...which we found out didn't do much of anything in the end.
Yes, that's my absolute STUD of a husband!  
We (completely) covered sections of the tile with the grout mix.  A note to anyone who tries this project- the grout does dry fast.  When it says 6-8 minute drying time on the container, it really means 4-5 minutes.  If you cover too much of the tile, you won't be able to wipe it off in enough time and you'll be using a razor blade to scrape grout off of the colored tiles.  Like me below...
Wipe the tile off with a sponge or a towel that you don't mind throwing out after the project.  Make sure you have a bucket of water nearby to rinse and re-rinse the towel.
And finally...
The finished product!  We're very excited with how it turned out!

In total the project cost us around $25 ($40, if you figure that we used $15 of an Ikea Gift Card).  It was a lot of work but we both agree, creating something together (as a family, no less) holds much more meaning to us than if we had slapped down our debit card and bought a mirror from Target. 

Next up, I'm finishing this Pinterest find "tutu table" for Mack's bedroom!  I'm hoping that when I share it with you, it will look as cute as the one in this picture :)


Saturday, June 9, 2012

Putting Out The Fire

I haven't struggled with postpartum depression in over 20 months.  But hey... who's counting? :) What I do still struggle with is panic attacks.  The only way I can think to distinguish between the two is like this:  postpartum depression was a fire that lit immediately after I gave birth to my daughter and continued to burn out of control until I took control.


Panic attacks come upon me like the leftover burning embers from the fire that was once postpartum depression.  These burning embers flake from the died down fire and come upon me at inopportune times during life. Over the past year or two, I've learned to recognize signs and signals that tell me I am close to having one.  My husband and I have (finally!) nailed down caffeine as a significant catalyst for my attacks.  Which is frustrating on so many levels- the most frustrating being that after Mack was born, my sleep deprived self was inhaling regular coffee by the pound.  Had I known three years ago that my anxiety was being severely heightened by caffeine, it would have been cut from my diet immediately.


I can tell when an attack is coming on because my pulse begins to race.  My concentration falters and I often find myself pacing our house and ringing my hands.  Things that wouldn't usually bother me (like extra loud noises or the sound of my little girl whining about something trivial) suddenly become things that set me on edge.  My mind becomes a mess of anxiety, overcome with insecurities and accusations that remind me of my past.


Sometimes I can defend against these attacks and strong arm them.  Other times, I lose myself to them, and I find myself an inconsolable, blubbering mess, unable to rationalize against the malicious thoughts that have invaded my reality.  As much as I am grateful to be beyond the dark cloud of PPD, these panic attacks do make me feel like a freak. I've had them in the middle of a Subway sandwich shop, in the bathroom stall of a church, and recently at a friend's wedding.  And it's hard.  Hard to know that people have seen you at your worst.  Hard to know that you have made a fool of yourself in a public setting and have given others the chance to judge as though you can't handle life.  It's hard to realize that sometimes you really can't handle life like you want to.


Katherine Stone, the founder of the incredible site Postpartum Progress, describes her own experience with a perinatal mood disorder.  She writes, "Before, back then, I believed the real me was the person full of anxiety.  The person who was and would always be ill.  The person who was not and would never be fierce.  I was never going to be loved by my children and would never be a good mom.  I believed those things."


And sadly, I did too.


After Mack was born, and the "baby blues" didn't end within the first few weeks, I convinced myself that I was meant to live like that.  I thought that part of having a child, was dying to myself and learning to cope and complacently live like that.  I know, it sounds absolutely pathetic.  And yet, this is what I actually believed.  I wish more than anything that I could go back to my (then) self and shake the living daylights out of whoever that girl was.  I wish I could tell her to relax and let the baby cry sometimes.  To tell her everything would be okay and that life would become filled with more joy than she could have ever dreamed of.


I guess the biggest difference between my experience with my (then) postpartum depression and my (now) panic attacks, is what I truly believe about myself when all is said and done. When I've finally silenced the overwhelming voices in my head and the shaking of my body has calmed.  What do I really and truly believe about myself as a mother?  What do my daughter and husband see when they look at me?  What do I believe now that I didn't and couldn't believe back then?


I cried the other day, as I read Katherine Stone's experience of returning to reality after one of her panic attacks.  She writes, "Now, I am awaiting the moment when I go back to feeling like the real me.  It might be later today.  If not, it will most certainly be tomorrow.  I'll go back to feeling strong and fierce and as though the ground I'm standing on is not buckling.  This, right now, is not me.  This thing is the thing that tries to deter me.  I will allow it a few minutes to do that, but then I will go back to me.  I am a good mother."


I cried, because I resonate so strongly with every word that she wrote.  This person who is still overcome by occasional bouts of panic--this woman is not me.  It is not who I am.  It is not who I will ever be.  Those fears of being a bad mother, they are gone.  The feelings of being crushed by the weight and responsibilities of motherhood?  They don't suffocate me anymore. And even in the midst of my occasional panic attacks, I now know and believe these in the deepest parts of my heart:


I am an excellent mother. 
In this place and time, I am meant to be a mother.
I bring joy to my daughter and my husband each day.
I am strong and resilient.
I am brave. 
On my most difficult days, I will survive.
Anxiety does not control me.  
Fear does cripple me.
I know how to love. 
I know how to be loved. 
I do both well.
I am an excellent mother.

"She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future." Proverbs 31:25


Thursday, June 7, 2012

Are You Mom Enough?

I replay a lot of memories from the first year of Mack's life.  Many memories are wonderful while others I would like to forget and pretend they never existed. There is one memory I find particularly humorous as well as equally horrendous.  

We had just picked up our 6-month-old from the church nursery.  It was wet and rainy in Chicago so JB ran to the parking garage to get the car.  While I stood in the lobby waiting, two elderly women begin to "oooh" and "ahhh" over Mack.  This wasn't unusual so I played along. At some point, the "small talk" turned to the topic of breastfeeding.  How and why, I'm still not sure but I can say without a doubt that I was not the one to steer the conversation in this direction.  The fact that I'm addressing this story in a public blog is actually surprising to me since any topic of female anatomy usually makes me blush.

I remember halting all of my participation in the conversation at this point.  I let the two elderly women take over and I was generally interested to hear what they would say and how the conversation would play out.  Perhaps this was my first mistake.  Maybe, I should have taken my squirmy baby and made a run for the rainy streets rather than wait for the safety of my car.  But I didn't.  I stayed and found myself in the crossfire of two judgmental, old hags.  

...Oops, did I just write that?

I listened.  I listened as they talked together about God's purpose for breastfeeding, how breastfeeding is the natural, God intended way for babies to be fed.  At this point I couldn't necessarily disagree with anything I was hearing but none-the-less, because of my horrible six week, hell-of-an experience with breastfeeding, I was beginning to blow steam from my corner of the room.  

Do I believe that breastfeeding is the most nutritional way for a baby to be fed?  Absolutely.  Do I believe that God's original intent was for mothers to feed their babies in this way? Yes. Do I believe that it is the best option for every mother out there, today? No, I absolutely do not.  In a perfect world, every mother would deliver her baby and he or she would immediately take to feeding from the breast.  We don't live in a perfect world though. We live in a fallen world. My baby and I fought tirelessly to make breastfeeding work.  In the end, it was not the natural, God intended way for me to feed my daughter.  For us, the most bonding and nurturing took place with her at my breast.... while I fed her from a bottle.  

With all of that said, I'll get down off of my soap box and tell you how the conversation took an even greater turn for the worst.  As I stood listening to these two women converse back and forth, one of them turned to Mackenzie.  She looked directly at her, smiled and said in a chipper voice, "You're such a happy baby.  You must be breastfed." 

Oh. No. You. Didn't.  That was all I could think.  That is all I can still think to this day.  I love old people.  I work with old people for God's sake.  But never before have I wanted to all out sucker punch an old woman.  As far as I'm concerned, this old lady might as well have written the headline for Time Magazine's May issue which begs the question to all non-breastfeeding moms out there, "Are you mom enough?"

I left the church that day feeling angry, guilty, judged and just plain flabbergasted by the nerve of these  women.  But the saddest part, is that, like these women, Time Magazine's recent issue has demonstrated an unfortunate truth.  There are actually moms out there who pit themselves against other moms, and build themselves up, surely convinced that they are making better choices for their child(ren) than other moms.  To this I ask: Where is the support?  Where is the encouragement? Where is the camaraderie that can be found just in the basic fact that we are ALL moms who are trying our damn hardest to love our kids and give them everything they need?

I have struggled greatly with this concept since giving birth to my daughter.  And maybe it all goes back to our inherent desire to be seen as "Wisteria Lane" type moms.  But really, when I'm talking to another mom about how my daughter just can't get the hang of potty training, I don't care to hear about how my parenting style is the problem.  If you ask me, that's judgment.  That's you telling me in your "ever-so-smug" way, that you are doing it "better". What I really want and need, is for you to tell me, "She's going to get it!"  or "Hang in there, toilet training was hard for us too!"  When I'm exhausted and having a day where I feel like I can't do anything right as a mother, the last thing I need is for another mom to showcase her child as an angel, all the while helping to build my "Failure Mom" plaque even larger and shinier.

I'm not writing to bash or criticize Time Magazine, Dr. Sears or even his attachment parenting philosophy.  Although I will admit, after seeing the front cover's bold headline, I was quite prepared be hot headed and angry at whoever wrote the article.  Oddly enough, I finished reading and found myself wondering why the headline, "Are You Mom Enough?" was even on the cover.  I didn't come away from the article convinced that it actually made any headway with convincing society of Dr. Sears' successful child rearing style.  If anything, I felt like parts of the article took aim at mocking him and his followers.  More than likely, the title was a gimmick to sell the issue and draw in readers.  I read it... so it worked!

My purpose in writing today is primarily to vent.  Don't we all just need that sometimes?  I also love to encourage my momma friends out there who are having a rough time.  Because whether we would like to admit it or not, we all have those days.  And please, please don't be one of those who looks snootily at the mom in the grocery store who just can't seem to keep her kid in line.  She might just need a big hug and for someone to tell her she's doing the best she can.

The other night, Mack was having trouble sleeping. Although, we try not to make rocking her an every night event, I am fully aware that these moments are becoming fewer and farther between now so on this particular night, I picked her and her tattered blue elephant up and we all snuggled together.  As I quietly rocked her and "Ted", I heard her whisper, "I love you Momma.  I'm ready to go in my own bed now."  I whispered "I love you too" and tucked her back underneath the covers.  As I fell asleep that night I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with joy.  I didn't need to breastfeed my daughter to bring her to this place.  She is safe and secure.  She knows she is loved and she is happy. And at the end of the day, If my daughter is all of these things, then I know I must be doing something right.  And I can fall asleep and rest easy knowing that, I am mom enough.