I Don’t Want My Body Back As A Mother

In talking with mamas, many, if not all, have said how glad they were to get their bodies back. Whether it be following delivery, after breast feeding or when they finally slept again.

Whatever the case may be, it has been the same sentiment about wanting to feel themselves again, or wanting control in some aspect of their bodily autonomy. Or, even wanting to exist in what feels familiar.

Honestly, that is not the case for me at all. While I am beginning to feel myself again; my pregnant and healing body was the most in control and predictable I’ve felt since I was sixteen years old. The moment I started to feel the chaos and discomfort of pregnancy was a moment I felt relief. Not just the emotional relief of finally reaching a goal, but a physical relief that feels hard to comprehend myself, let alone to put words to.

In my day to day, at baseline, I am uncomfortable and unwell.

While pregnant, I also felt uncomfortable and unwell, but with purpose. Those nine months, and the four (so far) following, were a time of the most medically appropriate and cooperative my body has been. Each symptom had a reason and every hard day was moving towards a desirable outcome. And though this sentence, and sentiment as a whole feels very scientific, I can attest to it being the most emotionally freeing experience I have had in a long time.

Do not get me wrong my pregnancy did not come without stress, anxiety and a lot of depressive moments (my husband can back me up here). However, all of those things, including sleepless nights, pain, nausea, anemia, etc. felt manageable with an end in sight. Even healing from a major invasive surgery felt so minimal compared to my indefinite MS filled day to day. The key word being indefinite.

How else can I describe this?

I don’t want my body back. I don’t want to return to my constant fight, my constant tug-o-war between health and disease. A true variation and reminder of my own of dis-ease.

But I’ll do it, I will always do it. And now even more so. Now, I will always show up. I will drag myself across the hall at 2 am knowing I won’t be able to fall back asleep. I will trek the stairs for the 700th time knowing this one might hurt. And I will eat my 6th peppermint in two hours knowing it will only subside the nausea while I rock back and forth and up and down for another half hour. I will always do it for that smile.

I will always do it because that is who I am. I can be isolated, bored and angry and not feel well. Or, I can live through some of my goals and things I enjoy while not feeling well.

All that being said…

No, I absolutely do not want my body back. Yes, I am curious what this body will do now as a mother.

I Got Another Tattoo, and These Are The Things I Thought About

I got a tattoo today.

I got a big tattoo today to cover up a much smaller, 10 year old tattoo that I was less than proud of. Getting this tattoo required stillness. A stillness I was not pleased to participate in. believe me, I wiggled and whined a bit and fought this need to be calm. But, in the end, hours later, I was thrilled with this work of art, the meaning behind it and the fact that I could be proud again. This tattoo will continue to require stillness as I listen to my body and observe the healing process; granted, it will also be a physical and visible healing process.

I got a tattoo today and it knocked me flat on my ass. Due to my illness, I often fall flat on my ass as far as physical health symptoms are concerns, however, this pain and the aftershock that accompanied it was completely of my own accord. I willingly signed up for, scheduled and agreed to this discomfort, this stillness.

And while I lie still, I recognize I have not allowed myself to do so for a long, very long time. In fact, I actively avoid stillness of any kind. So, what am I truly avoiding? (that is probably not something that will be answered in one blog)

Weeks ago, to be honest, more like months ago, I noticed my mental health had been slipping. I had been noticing a slow, also at times rapid, decline in my outlook, attitude and my actions and thoughts towards myself and others. I would blame the chaos that is my life, or the disconnection I was feeling with friends and family, or even false resentments I was holding on to for dear life. But those things, those imaginary stories, were not the perpetrators of my downward spiral; I was not the victim. I was to blame. (along with some other factors such as insane hormones, chronic illness and various miscellaneous things I cannot even begin to identify.)

However, I realize I was only perpetuating the cycle by blaming, by distracting and by continuing to fill my schedule with things lacking meaning. I was becoming a victim of my own avoidance.

This tattoo, though the meaning is special, the physical act of getting it forced me to decline two visits with dear family members. This tattoo, as wanted as it was, caused me to sit on my couch and listen. This tattoo, as gorgeous as it is has reminded me of a valuable concept; be still, be present, and be there for myself. In having to make the decision to rest, I felt an incredible amount of guilt for not seeing my cousin and not having met his girlfriend yet. I texted a friend about it and she said, “gotta put your needs and health first!” And she is right, she is more than right and I needed a visible reminder of that. I think I needed that reminder for my day to day life, not just in this moment following a tattoo.

I have been having a hard time coming up with a topic for my blog the last couple of weeks. I have a lot of saved documents and notes in my phone consisting of run on sentences, half-finished thoughts and very poor grammar, but today, in getting this reminder I felt more motivated. It’s kind of ironic that something I was planning for so long served as motivation for something I was struggling with for so long.

Flash forward to tomorrow. It is now Sunday and I am feeling a sense of motivation I have not felt in a while. I woke up early and started my day by cooking brunch for a dear old friend. I felt good, I feel good. Cooking is inspiring to me, I planned meals for the week, I planned chores for the day and I made sure to schedule in time for myself, for stillness. I realize that the disconnection I feel has more to do with a disconnection from myself than it does a disconnection from others. I fit people in, I manage to have time to see friends and to see family. Though I cannot see all the people I love as often as I would like, I see them often enough to still be aware of the ins and outs of their days. A good friend bought a house, two are on vacation, two others still are spending time with newborns and another is learning who she is and taking time to do so. And many still reaching milestones and living their own best lives. I am proud of all of them all I am honored to know each of them, and that is just it; I do know them. I do connect regularly, so I have no reason to feel disconnected other than I am not sure of who it is they know.

I am unable to connect with them fully until I connect with myself. As I have probably shared a thousand times in my blog, routine will return that connection. A physical and a spiritual routine to better my health and overall well-being. My mother joined a CSA and I probably did not express my gratitude well enough to her for getting the family share so I can benefit as well. I am glad to start cooking better and having an excuse to see her. I was frivolous and got an apple watch, and I am glad to be held accountable and to see progress in working towards my goals. I am enjoying the benefits of stillness and am excited to return to the place of peace I know I can achieve if I just take that time for me, and take that time to spend with Michael without rushing, without planning and without distractions. I am excited that this tattoo, in more ways than one has and will continue to remind me to face the sun and grow towards the light.

The Skills I have To Think About

Recently, I was reminded that over ten years ago now, I was put in a place where I needed to have a strong sense of myself, of my body and of what it tells me. I have honed in on that skill and have learned to trust it and to trust myself. This skill has come about to protect my physical health. However, that is not always the easiest thing to do, or to want to do.

I have also developed a skill where I am able to pretend that I feel okay, or even good, when in reality my legs are failing me and I cannot comprehend a simple sentence. That skill was created to preserve my mental health.

And these are the things I have to think about; when to use which skill and how long do I go before I talk about how I am feeling, or in the case of MS, not feeling.

It is November 18 and I had hoped to post sooner, but life happens. And a lot has happened in my life in the past 6 months that I am now able to reflect on. I can see how the craziness and business of adulthood has impacted me. Throughout the summer I had two amazing friends get married, so that meant bridal showers and bachelorette parties and planning and practicing and dressing up and dancing and eating and so much celebration.

Along with the amazing festivities came a new-ish relationship, two overactive, but wonderful, cats, a lovely vacation with my mother, moving and all around adulthood. Even just happily reminiscing makes me tired.

In participating in all of these things, I was and continue to be incredibly grateful to have been able to experience each and every breathtaking moment. However, this is where the skill of listening comes into play. Thank God I have had ten years to perfect this, or else the last six months would have ended in disaster. When there were things to do on a Saturday, it was guaranteed Friday and Sunday we’re left open for rest and recovery. And when there were events on Sundays, you can bet the rest of the week I had no plans, or no responsibilities.

This sounds like I would be planning accordingly to accommodate an insane hangover, that one can assume would come along with so much excitement. Nope. That is not the type of recovery I am talking about (though there may have been extra wine consumed here and there). My recovery involves more than greasy food and some Advil. My recovery involves limited walking to ensure the weakness in my legs subsides enough to return to work on Monday. My recovery involves healthy foods, to confirm I will be able to eat comfortably for the rest of the week. And my recovery means warm baths and judgment free naps in order to have my vision cooperate and my cognitive abilities up to par.

But I don’t share this for pity. I write this to express things I cannot otherwise say. I write this to vocalize the things I have to think about.

Don’t get me wrong, there are and certainly were bad days during all of the fun (I actually believe I had my first flare up in four years). But as I mentioned before, I have also worked to improve upon my skill of pretending I feel good. This skill is more for my benefit than for others. If I pretend I feel good then I don’t have to go home, and I don’t have to miss out on these life things. When I pretend I feel good I have fun and I am happy, opposed to sitting home bored watching another murder show, or learning how to make another dish on Food Network, that I can guarantee I’ll never make in my real life.

Actually, I am writing about this because for the first time in a long time, a couple weeks ago I was unable to pretend that I felt good any longer and I had to leave; I went home to watch a favorite show to help preserve what I could of my sanity. My wonderful, talented boyfriend had a show and I wanted to hang out after with him and some friends but I could not. I could not bring myself to do it. I did not feel well and my brain, right away entered into some weird emotional power struggle thinking: do I pretend versus do I listen to my body. Listening won, I went home early and nobody was upset, except for me. So I challenged myself and I was honest. I was honest with myself and with others.

In this honesty, I realized, it is okay, and I do not have to do it all, despite feeling a need to be present at everything all the time. This moment, or the day following it since it was very late and very much past my bedtime, reminded me of lessons I learned ten years ago when I was 18 and diagnosed with MS.

I am a priority as much as anybody else in my life. I am allowed to care for and to protect my health, emotional and physical, and I am entitled to do so in whatever means necessary. So, as I approach my 29^th year I am grateful to go into it inspired to return to my version of self-care. I am excited to return to my own practices that feel right for me, regardless of what others think or are doing. I am read to practice saying not and putting what I want, or need, first on occasion.

I admire my friends for running, especially in the snow, but I don’t have to do that just because they do, in fact cardio makes me angry. I am in awe of my friends for following their dreams, but I don’t have to have the same dreams, though I once thought I did. I am grateful for family for following whatever path they need to in order to have their needs met, but I don’t have to walk that path with them, which does not mean I do not support them. And I am honored to have encouragement in my relationship, but I know I cannot reciprocate if I do not cheer myself on as well.

So, it took a few bad days to remember what brings me peace and what brings me sanity. It took some phone calls to the doctor and some unwanted rest days to bring me back to a place of contentment and inspiration. And it took my honesty and my perception of what I felt was admitting defeat to learn that it is okay to rest, and it is okay to ask for help. Moving forward I plan to return to rest and to return to what I know will create a place for me that allows for continued listening to my body so that I don’t have to pretend I am okay, I will actually be okay and feel good.