Sunshine Today, Cloudy Tomorrow

Ethan has a remote control toy that talks. “Today’s shape is circle!” it says when he pushes a button, and then quickly launches into a counting song as his baby fingers push two buttons together. Sometimes it spouts out a weather forecast as if he were watching TV: “Sunshine today, cloudy tomorrow!”

The voice for that one is female, squeaky. Overly cheerful, as though clouds tomorrow—the forecast is always the same—were a welcome thing. Although I suppose there’s something to be said for having a heads up that clouds are on the way.

clouds at 3:41 pm as a metaphor for depression3:41 p.m.

My depression has materialized in almost every form possible – anger, anxiety, flat nothingness, extreme sadness that requires a large and close-by stash of Kleenex. Until recently, that sadness was a slow decline, a slipping, a falling in, something I could feel coming. My forecast would show the clouds moving in; it was a reliable source that would allow for some preparation. I would reach out to bat the depression away, then watch it soar like a badminton birdie that flies farther and smoother than its awkward form would suggest.

Earlier this year that changed. I started having what I call “mini crashes” – fine one day, not fine the next. The sunshine would, suddenly and with no warning, be replaced by clouds, and I’d stand there wondering where they came from and why my inner meteorologist had failed me.

clouds at 8:42 pm as a metaphor for depression8:42 p.m.

I had one too many rainy days and had to do something about it. Thankfully, I’ve got it mostly under control now, but I still watch the clouds much more than I did before.

That’s the reality I’m left with, I guess. It’s been five years and the depression—or the possibility of it—isn’t going away. It’s in me. It is me.

It’s taken me a long time to accept that and be willing to deal with it and all its implications.

It’s okay, I guess. It’s manageable. Mostly, as they say, it is what it is. I’m better now, but if I need to I can batten down the hatches, ride out the storm, and wait for the sunshine to filter through again.

It always does.

clouds at 9:13 pm as a metaphor for depression9:13 p.m.

[These pictures were all taken on the same day several weeks ago. The clouds where I live are beautiful – shocking and entrancing and sometimes downright menacing. I take pictures of the skies a lot, but the way the clouds developed on that day happened to be particularly eye-catching.]

 

Five Months to Firm

I firmly believe people won’t quit something or start something or stick to something (like quitting a bad habit or starting a new one) if they’re not ready to do it. And that’s about the only thing I’ve got right now that’s firm.

on Connor's first birthday

on Connor’s first birthday

The other day I saw a picture of myself with Connor on his first birthday, when I was about 30 pounds lighter than I am right now. And a day or so later I looked in the mirror and sucked in my tummy and thought, “If I really suck it in it’s not too bad.” And then we went away for a few days and I got some perspective and decided that being in a state of not-too-bad-but-only-when-my-tummy-is-sucked-in is not okay.

I was happy with my body before Connor was born. I had a small crisis when he was about three months old and I had to buy some in-between clothes and I almost cried because I thought I was going to feel flabby forever. But thanks to a baby who needed a lot of bouncing and a very active maternity leave I did lose the weight and a few extra pounds to boot. But when I started antidepressants some of that flab came back and hasn’t left.

I didn’t actually get weighed regularly when I was pregnant with Ethan, but my best guess based on what I think I weighed before is that I gained about eight pounds. And I’m now about two pounds below what I weighed when he was born.

Are you feeling disheartened yet? Because I am.

I’m just sick of it. I’m sick of stuffing my face with crap because I’m bored or tired or just plain old in the habit of eating badly. I don’t want to have to hang my jeans to dry so I don’t have to hold my breath for the first couple of hours of wearing them after they come out of the dryer. And I didn’t want to have to buy shorts in a size larger than what I’ve been wearing recently, but that’s what I had to do. It doesn’t matter that they’re pink and summery and we finally have weather that requires shorts. I just don’t want to see that extra flab in the mirror anymore. And now I’m finally ready to do something about it.

So I solemnly swear that I quit. For the next month I’m going to cut out all the stuff I’ve been eating because I think it will make me feel better. No Coke, no chocolate, no ice cream. Bye bye Blizzards. Farewell fries. I’m going to keep up with the exercise I’ve been doing and try to add more, but my eating habits really need to go back to where they were.

I’ve got five months until Ethan turns one. I may not get back to where I was on my first child’s first birthday, but I’d like to at least feel better about myself when I see the pictures.

PS I’d like to offer a shout-out to Miranda from Not Super… Just Mom whose State of the Weight Wednesday series has contributed to my resolve.

 

How to Find Your Beauty

Two years ago I never would have posted a self-portrait here. A year ago I never would have posted a picture of me without makeup. Heck, a month ago I probably wouldn’t have. But today I’m going to change that.

I’m not sure what’s changed, exactly, but it has something to do with spending less time caring and spending more time finding my own beauty.

Dove is encouraging women to find their beauty with their latest video, which has been shared often on Facebook and elsewhere.

The women I’ve seen share this are all different ages with all different kinds of faces. Their sentiments in sharing the link have included things like made me teary, made me stop, made me think. They’ve said we don’t see our own beauty and I need to take this message to heart.

My first thought was different.

The Dove video is clearly professionally produced and edited. It appears—and I’m assuming here—that the artist in the video was in on the concept. Maybe my impression of it was different because I had seen this video talked up before I watched it. Or maybe it’s because I’ve produced video and I know how much goes into scripting the message and editing the content to fit. But upon watching the video the first thing I thought about was the approach Dove took to make their point.

Did Dove focus on the women’s negative descriptions of themselves while highlighting the strangers’ positive descriptions of the women they described? Yes. Did the artist’s work involve bias (intended or not) that resulted in the women’s portraits seeming less attractive when the women described themselves and more attractive when others did? I don’t know. Probably.

Does any of that change the message? No.

Dove is doing a great things with this campaign and others they offered before it. They’re challenging our notions of beauty and asking us to think about how we see ourselves. And, perhaps more importantly, they’re making us talk about it.

Maybe the other reason this video didn’t hit me as hard as it appears to have hit others is that I don’t have a tendency to berate myself for not being beautiful enough.

To be clear, I don’t think I’m especially beautiful. I like my eyes (sometimes). I like my hair, but only when I’m having a good hair day. I hate my chin and my nose and the extra weight that likes to gather around my midsection. The thing that’s different, I think, is that I’ve somehow mostly come to terms with how I look.

I do, however, struggle with photos of me. I hate them with a red-hot passion that I can barely begin to describe. I see pictures of myself and focus on the features I hate and how not photogenic I am and I want to hide under the covers on my bed and never come out.

So I’ve been doing something about that.

For the last few months I’ve been taking self-portraits. Random shots at random times – sometimes when I like how I look and sometimes just to take some shots to see if I can tolerate any of them. Mostly I can’t and I spend a lot of time deleting.

But I’m going to challenge my own perception of what’s beautiful enough and share some of those photos here.

self-portrait2

This is one of the first ones I took and the only one here that’s been edited. I took it on a casual, hoodie sort of day but didn’t like how washed-out I looked so I added an effect to jazz it up a little. I like how my eyes look but I think the rest is sort of freaky.

self-portrait5

We went to a winter carnival a couple of months ago and I had to feed Ethan before we left. A selfie while nursing? Why not.
self-portrait4

This picture is from a series I took while playing with Ethan on the floor one day. Most of them were horrific (gravity will do that to you) but I kept this one because it was representative of our playtime that day.

self-portrait3

This is a recent one I shared on Instagram. I think most sunglasses look ridiculous on me (and my husband will agree) but I wanted a picture of me with my little owl that day.

self-portrait1

And, finally, this one.

I posted my thoughts about the Dove campaign and the potential of the artist’s bias on my Facebook page. Does questioning that make me horribly cynical, I asked? Yes, said one person who responded, and then posted what I thought was an unnecessarily snarky comment about putting the shadow of doubt on a beautiful concept.

But like I said, I’m not questioning the message. It’s media. It’s a large corporation. I work in communications, so my brain just went to wondering about their methods. So what?

I’m not saying we shouldn’t look for our own beauty. All I’m saying is that this particular video didn’t challenge me the way it challenges others.

That last photo is my challenge. My moment of truth. I took it at 5 p.m. today, right after reading that comment on my Facebook post. I’m wearing no makeup. I hadn’t had a shower and my hair was sticking out at all angles this morning so I threw a hat on my head before taking Connor to a class. There is nothing contrived about that photo – it wasn’t planned, it wasn’t edited, and it’s not how I look when I feel beautiful.

It’s just me as I looked today. I looked like this while I played with my kids, while I cleaned the kitchen, while I took my passport application in. I looked like this while I sat in Starbucks this morning with Ethan while we waited to pick Connor up.

It’s just me.

And I’m choosing to find beauty in that.

How do you find your beauty?

 

Say What You Need to Say

I’ve been thinking a lot about resentment lately. I suppose that’s normal when your entry into motherhood is a crying-filled, sleepless smackdown and you subsequently have a second baby who offers you the sort of experience you expected to have when you became a mom. At least it’s normal for me.

“This isn’t the experience with motherhood I wanted you to have,” I remember my mom saying to me one day while I cried on the phone to her when Connor was a baby.

It wasn’t the experience I wanted to have either. It’s not that I thought having a baby should be lullaby perfect, but I didn’t want it to be filled with quite so much despair.

The moment my mom said that to me is a milestone in my motherhood journey. From where I stand now I see that moment like a marker stabbed into the sand on my path, noting what came before and what would follow after. This is how the beginning will always be for you, says the sign next to it. You can’t relive those earlier months and your motherhood picture will always be shaped by this experience. You don’t get to do it again and have it be easier, more fulfilling, more fun.

No, I don’t.

But do I resent Connor?

No, I don’t.

***bench-and-blue-sky

I danced with Ethan this morning.

He was full of smiles when I went to get him out of bed to start the day. I fed him and then he played happily in his high chair while I had breakfast. He splashed in the bath, experimenting with what happens when he kicks his feet.

We’ve been working on sleep lately and this morning, not for the first time, he had a nice, long nap. He woke up, pink-cheeked and laughing. I fed him and then thought he might like some play time on the floor, but he didn’t. So we danced.

“Say what you need to say,” sang John Mayer, as I held Ethan around the waist and placed my hand in his small chubby one. He put his nose in the crook of my neck and leaned his cheek against mine. He let me sing and he stuck to me as I swayed, breathing him in.

***

If Ethan had been my first baby, I wouldn’t have spent so much time bouncing a screaming baby. I wouldn’t have logged hours in his room trying to get him to sleep and wondering at what point my sanity would actually break. I wouldn’t have been anxious about doing errands or shopping for groceries in case he had a colossal meltdown in public.

I would have been able to go to play dates without dreading having to go home and deal with him by myself. I would have had more hot meals. I would have had more meals, period. I would have cherished the time and his laugh and those slobbery, open-mouthed kisses without wondering why the lovely baby stuff had to be overshadowed by so very much hard stuff.

That sign in the sand is right. I don’t get a motherhood do-over, though my experience with Ethan has given me a glimpse of what might have been.

With a different baby, my early days of motherhood might have been more peaceful. They might have been more fun. They might even have been diaper-commercial sweet. With a second, very different baby, I can see it now.

***

Do I resent Connor?

No, I don’t.

I don’t resent him, neither the baby he was nor the boy he is now. But do I resent my introduction to motherhood and wish it had been different?

Sometimes. A little bit. I do.

Say what you need to say.

 

Do You Doodle?

I took an online course in January that was all about making 2013 what you want it to be, and one of the “assignments” was to doodle. Just doodle. Anything – shapes, colours, mind maps, whatever.

This sounds easy, and possibly fun, but I have a mental block against doodling.

I thought about this prompt for a few days before I actually did it. And then when I sat down with my journal open to a blank page, it seemed so very blank. I couldn’t even think where to start.

I’ve never been a big doodler, but I’ve always doodled the same way. I draw triangles.

triangle doodle

Each one is built off a line from a previous one, and I add lines quickly. Each new line has to actually make a triangle – none of these weird, four-sided polygons sneaking in.

But doing my usual seemed, somehow, like not the right way. So, to get over the stalling and stumbling with my doodling assignment, I started with words because I had to get some lines down on the paper. And then I said to hell with it and started drawing triangles.

At first all my brain did was analyze. Is this good enough? What else should I be doing? Why am I so ridiculous about this? 

Is there such a thing as a good doodler?

Actually, I think there is, and I think that’s where my reluctance comes in. I used to do this triangle doodling mindlessly – in class, when on the phone, in meetings, etc. I would do it when my brain wasn’t busy enough and I could fill a large section of a page quickly. But that’s all it was for me – something at which to fire the synapses in my brain.

triangles2

And then I met my husband.

He happens to be an artist extraordinaire. He can draw just about anything, and damn well too. My own skills shrank in the light of his far superior ability and I ceased doing anything “artistic.”

This led me to writing more, I think, but my inability to just pick up a marker or a brush or a crayon and just create stares me in the face all the time.

“I’m an artist just like my dad,” Connor said one day as he was painting. And he’s right. Not because he can draw or has particular skill – that’s not the point. To him it’s about the process, not about perfection. It’s about creating something and then moving on to the next and the next instead of stalling and finally starting and then stumbling over your own insecurity.

triangles3

The point of the exercise was to show that doodling is actually quite productive. According to studies, we were told, people who doodle tend to retain up to 29% more information than those who don’t. I’m not actually sure if this is true for me. When I doodle, I tune out. I do it because I’m bored, not because it’s an innate tendency. But I still don’t just doodle – I’m always doing something else in my head. Writing, generally.

Eventually, while doing this exercise, I realized I had stopped writing in my head and had ceased judging the triangles as being not a good enough way to doodle. I drew some more and then decided they needed colour, so I added some. But I got bored quickly and stopped.

I had explored doodling. I had given it a chance. I had thought about my own patterns with doodling and (over)analyzed its place in my life. I’ve had this post in draft for two months and still didn’t come up with any really profound revelations except this: I prefer to write.

Do you doodle?