Why I "Changed my Mind" About Being a Mommy

I've been getting this question a lot, in regards to my decision to get pregnant and join the circle of Motherhood. My initial reaction was one of learned defensiveness where I just wanted to say "None of your fucking business" and leave it at that.

But, here's the thing. If I share my story maybe I can be a small deterrent in what people consider to be socially acceptable to pester women about. So, here's why I "changed my mind" about having a child.

You see... I didn't change my mind. Somewhere inside of me, I've always wanted to be a mom. I've known since I was a child that if I had a baby, I didn't want to find out what I was having before birth (and I'm not finding out). I've had names picked out since my teen, though they've changed and evolved now.

But, there were obstacles to overcome before I decided to bring a new life in to this world and be responsible for it. If you read my Painting the Feminine post titled The Noble Path you'll recall that I've only recently come clean about my fears of being barren due to a slew of medical issues. That fear was enough to have me tuck the want for a child somewhere down deep inside myself; I may have been a physical masochist during the darkest days of my depression, but I'd never have willingly hurt myself emotionally. It's not an exaggeration to say that at a certain point in my life, that level of disappointment could have been life threatening.

Which leads me to my second obstacle; there were a lot of emotional walls for me to tear down and a lot of healing work to do on myself. Some things may never be healed fully, such as being O.K. with people touching me or being in my personal space without my permission, but others could be and needed to be. I couldn't take care of a child when I still felt like I was responsible for taking care of my younger siblings, I couldn't take care of a child while I thought of family as nothing more than a hive of hurt and disappointment, I couldn't take care of a child while I was busy being terrified I'd turn in to my own parents and I sure as shit couldn't take care of a child when I was too much of an emotional nightmare to even take care of myself.

No one really asks you when you're going to have kids until you get married, so I didn't have to explain myself for a while. But once Joe and I were married, it seems everyone felt it was their personal duty to inquire about the emptiness of my uterus and when that may change. At first I just said, when I'm damn well good and ready.

Which should have been enough, but never seemed to be. Because these same people; family, friends, coworkers... would ask me repeatedly. Some would do it each time they saw me and others would keep a watchful eye on things like whether I was drinking wine or beer at parties and gossiping amongst themselves to see if I was pregnant.

Let me stop my own story here to make a very important point, which is the entire reason I'm going in to this: it is never and I mean NEVER acceptable or ok to pry this much in to someone else's personal life. If you chose to get knocked up at 24, 16, a week after you got married, before you were married, at the sperm bank - good for you. I respect your reproductive decisions but you and I aren't the same. Nor are we the same as anyone else. The choice whether or not to reproduce is an incredibly personal one and shouldn't be relegated to water cooler or family reunion gossip. You don't know what someone is going through or what their reasons are and to be completely honest and frank it is none of your fucking business, regardless of your relationship. And should you ask if someone is planning to have a child, take their answer at its face value and move on. Do not guilt them with wanting to be a grandparent, aunt, uncle or want your child to have a playmate. Emotional blackmail is one of the reasons so very many relationships of all sorts are in shambles, don't do it.

My answer of "when I'm ready" was never enough and people wanted to pry in to why I wasn't ready, when I would be ready or (my personal favorite line of bullshit) reminded me that I was getting old (I turned 31 17 days ago). I finally hit a wall with what I could take and refusing to dignify their inquiries with highly personal and private information, I began telling people that I didn't want kids and in fact, greatly disliked them.

That's right. I started telling family members and friends that I didn't like kids and never planned to have any, simply so they would shut up, leave me alone and let me get to the business of taking care of myself. When you think about it, that's a really sad situation. No one should have to lie to get people to respect their boundaries.

But I did. For years. And right up until the day I got pregnant there were only a dozen people that knew that I did, in fact, want children.

So to answer the question of "Why" or "What" made me change my mind... nothing did. Because it hasn't changed. I just have been dishonest with a large group of very intrusive people for a very long time in order to give myself the emotional space that I required but was consistently refused.

If you're in that group, or someone like them, I hope this will serve as a lesson to you and that in the future you will understand that not everyone is an open book and not everyone welcomes personal questions and prying. And that even if they're ok with your asking, please don't ever turn it in to a stalk and gossip situation, because that's really unnerving and creepy.

If I can get even one person to change a behavior by telling my own story, that will be enough. That's the biggest reason that I share personal stories about depression, fear, healing and other personal issues in this forum; to advocate and hopefully touch others in some small way. I'm much better at writing about them than I am at speaking about them and only share when the time and tone sits right in my heart and in my mind; never before I'm ready to do so.


*****
Less heavy stuff on the horizon. Cross my heart. xox

Up, Up & Away!

Yesterday was a big day for me for a number of reasons: I was able to cross something off of my 30 before 30 bucket list (I saw no point in giving up on it when I turned 30 and carried it over), I was able to face down a fear and be brave, I got to spend the morning doing something amazing and romantic with my hubster!

As I've mentioned previously, I'm afraid of heights. I also have mild bouts of vertigo and am terrified of falling. I don't handle tripping and falling very well, I really freak out when I wobble on the step-stool and I'm not interested in plunging from any great heights. Sky diving is something firmly on my list of 'never-evers'.

So when I bought tickets for us to go on a hot air balloon ride, that was a very big deal. A few people remarked that I'd wasted my money because I'd never do it. It stung, that people who I care about could be so cavalier and cold about a very real phobia and brush off my seemingly small step but I couldn't deny that they might be right. I held those tickets for nearly a year before I called and scheduled the ride, and as I spoke to the woman on the phone about it, I was shaking.

Let me stop here for a moment to express the difference between a phobia and a fear; for those who are lucky enough to only suffer the second one on occasion.

A fear is a normal and healthy response to what could potentially be a dangerous situation. It is our ingrained fight or flight reflex that we've evolved over centuries of being survivors. Typically these don't interfere with our every day lives and don't hold us back. A fear is the butterflies in your stomach when you crest the top of a coaster, the brief moment of worry you experience at a sudden noise in the house, it's feeling a bit apprehensive when you see the needle the Doctor is about to stick you with.

A phobia, on the other hand, is an (often times) exaggerated fear that can interfere with your life. It is a deep seeded terror of things that, to someone without that phobia, may seem silly. People who have a phobia of dogs will be just as terrified of your friendly Yorkie who wants to run up and say 'hello' as they are of a large snarling dog lunging at them. People with a phobia of bridges (and sometimes heights) may drive miles upon miles out of the way to avoid crossing a bridge while driving, or in the case of my mother, pull over and make someone else drive across while you curl up in the backseat and try not to hyperventilate. A person who is phobic of needles may avoid going to the Doctor's office for important medical check-ups and treatments because they are terrified they'll receive a shot. Often times a phobia's attack is accompanied by shallow breathing (hyperventilating), upset stomach and all the ickyness that can bring on, shaking, sweating, snapping off at people, rapidly beating heart and an intense desire to get the fuck out of there right now, no matter what.

As someone with phobias, I can tell you, it's unpleasant and it's terrible. And if you don't have one, then you're infinitely lucky. But don't give someone who has one shit for being 'silly' or 'irrational'. Like so many things that happen in the brain, it's a disorder that the sufferer would typically prefer not to have.

That said, I've decided that I'm tired of being phobic, so I'm going to start taking baby steps to facing my own fears. I've managed to get my height fear (mostly) under control if I'm inside of a building; I try to climb every lighthouse we find when we take vacations. I've started to climb up the ladder (albeit not the tallest ladder and it must be an A frame) at home to do things like paint the trim and gutters... although I move at a snail's pace and cling to the sides for dear life as I go up and down that whopping 6'. I sometimes climb up the rickety folding stairs in to the attic to get things down or put them up. And I went on that 300' swing ride at the amusement park earlier this summer.

Now I know some people will look at that list and go... "So.. you climbed a ladder? That's normal, what the fuck are you so proud of?" Well, Sarcastic Sally, I'm proud of the fact that I overcame several very strong urges to run away, to shit myself and to pass out each and every time I did one of those "simple, normal" things. It's not an easy feeling to overcome. Phobias, while described as exaggerated or imaginary as far as how the phobic perceive things, are very real feelings.

And those are the exact feelings I was dealing with at 6:00 yesterday morning as I looked out a coffee shop window in to the still dark sky. Joe was sitting in a soft chair watching me as I sat down, got back up, paced, went to the bathroom, came out, sat down, got up, paced, went outside, came back inside... repeatedly. I was sweating. My heart was threatening to beat out of my chest. My breathing was shallow. I felt like I was going to pass out. He asked if there was anything he could do to help and I squeaked out "talk to me" as I choked back tears.

No one else was there yet; we had at least 15 minutes until our balloon pilots and chase crew showed up. I must have repeated this cycle 30 times in 5 minutes. The other couple that had shown up kept glancing at me and I felt shame on top of my fear. Joe talked to me about all sorts of other things, that I honestly can't recall and kept giving my hand a squeeze. I announced it was "too fucking hot and I couldn't take it" and we went out in to the deliciously crisp morning air. I decided I was going to be too hot on the flight and that the chances of my stomach causing me great grief and embarrassment were extremely high, so I ran to the car and swapped my hoodie for a soft button up shirt and took several swigs of Pepto.

Our pilots showed up and ushered the now larger group of people to a section inside to tell us a little bit about what the morning had in store for us. I barely comprehended what they were saying because I was trying to remember how to breath. Breath in to a count of 7, hold for 4, out for 8. Repeat. Don't pass out, you dumb bitch. I felt Joe's hand squeeze my knee and heard the words 'If the weather balloon disappears too quickly, we won't be going today'. I secretly hoped we wouldn't be able to go. More shame washed over me as we all climbed in to the van to go to the launch site.

Once there, they let off two balloons to check the winds and determined we could fly. I felt a mix of excitement and terror. There was a briefing where one of the pilots took all of us aside to talk about what we might encounter, what the worst case scenarios could be and what things typically freak first time fliers out. And it was at that point that I started to feel less apprehensive about the whole thing. As he talked about the worst case scenarios for landing, about the number of times they've had something go wrong, about the years of experience between the pilots, the knot in my stomach began to relax and my breathing started to even out. I even looked over at Joe and smiled; which made him grin back at me. After he had finished going over everything, he informed Joe and I we'd be going in the smaller balloon with the other pilot, by ourselves! We were supposed to be taking a shared flight with other people and I'm not sure if 2 people didn't show up or what, but we were to go alone while the 6 other people rode in the larger balloon.

I'm not sure if that was luck or because Joe was the biggest guy there and so would be a better help to our pilot during set up, in case of emergency and tear down, and I really don't care because it was an amazing and unexpected upgrade! It could have been any couple there, but it was us! This also had some effect on calming my nerves as I knew there'd be enough space in the basket that I wouldn't be pressed against a low side or not have a pole to cling to if I wanted it. That I could sit down, if I needed to. We went over to our balloon, Patches, who is as old as I am! (I thought that was sort of awesome & a good sign, having the same birthyear and all). She was beginning to be inflated and we met our pilot, Chief Eagle, who was really an awesome guy! He had Joe help him with set up and told me to take all sorts of pictures because how often do you get to do that? He also told me to try not to worry because he and his 5 year old fly by themselves almost every weekend and if he was concerned about it being dangerous, he sure wouldn't put his kid in the basket.

I honestly couldn't tell you much about the state of my stomach or anything here, because I was focused on taking pictures (a huge comfort/deflection mechanism for me) and was fascinated by the entire set up process. I've seen it before from afar, but it was incredible to be able to touch the balloon and feel the heat from the flames as it was being set up. When Chief said "come on and hop in the basket" I did so with only a minor twinge in my stomach, though my heart rate was climbing up again. Joe hopped in a minute later and our ground crew held us down for another few moments as Chief went over where to hold on, where not to hold on and how to stand when and if he asked us to brace ourselves. Once we had gone over that he gave the all clear and they let us go...

Up...

Up...

and...

Away.

The sensation of taking off is indescribable, really, because it didn't feel like anything was happening. The ride is so smooth and so gentle that if you closed your eyes, you would have no idea you were even moving. There was no 'flip flopping belly' sensation, like heights normally give me, no vertigo to speak of. Just pure, unadulterated awe and wonder and an overwhelming sense of pride and joy with myself. It was beautiful, for more reasons than just the scenery - although that was breathtaking as well. Watching the sun rise over the mountains from above the tree tops... it was unreal. It was serene beyond all of my imaginings as we floated up.

Displaying this one larger so you can see our shadow.

We did a few 'touch and goes' as we went, descending from great heights to graze open fields and at one point, in to a quarry. Our companion balloon also descended in to the quarry, almost to the very bottom. You can see below how very large the quarry is by how very tiny that massive balloon looks! We floated back up, gently, until the breeze caught us again and we continued floating on; the winds pushing us where they liked. You can't steer a balloon, you can ascend and descend, but moving North, South, East or West is at the winds' discretions.

It was so peaceful and ethereal up there, looking in to the horizon and down at the itty bitty tree tops. The cool breeze around you mingling with the warm of the burner. Deer and turkeys sprinting around in fields below looking not much larger than ants, as miniature cars speed along a freeway that resembles a small country road. We stayed between 1,000 and 2,000 feet for most of the ride, dipping down low through the trees once to come to rest next to a small pond before ascending up in to the sky once more. I had completely forgotten to be afraid for the entirety of the ride, so awestruck was I. I forgot to take my usual 500 pictures too, so blown away by the moment and the feeling that I didn't need to cling to my camera - instead firing off under 100 shots throughout the entire hour we were up in the sky. Just enough to remember the sights and bring the sensations in to mind once they've faded away in the day-to-day hub bub of the Real World.

When it was time to land, our companion balloon did so in someone's front yard - something people in the area are used to and many find to be a great thrill! We landed in a small field, not as gently as some would have preferred as we opted to land in a tight space. Chief had us brace ourselves and hold on - feet together, knees together and soft, arms around a pole as he let the air out of the balloon around 30 feet to drop us to avoid trees, power lines and a garden. We hit the ground with a bump that felt remarkably like jumping off a table on to the floor in your home, we bounced and the basket began to tip as the envelope (aka balloon) caught a bit of breeze and dragged us a bit. We ended up on our side, all clinging to the basket and safe inside. Once the drag stopped, we righted ourselves and laughed and smiled as we waited for our chase team to come tether us and help break us down.

It was the sort of landing a lot of folks would have bitched about, but it is actually very typical and we went in knowing that was probably what would end up happening. And I'm glad for the short fall and rough landing, because I didn't panic, I didn't freak out, my stomach was fine and when it was all said and done I had enjoyed that little bit of excitement. We got the entire, well rounded ballooning experience! And I wouldn't have traded it for a gentle tethered landing.

This whole experience was quite honestly, one of the most amazing in my life. Not only did I get to experience the world and nature that I love so dearly from a different perspective, but I fought down that phobic urge to flee regardless of the consequences and conquered, in a very major way, a very serious fear of mine. To say that I am proud of myself would be an understatement, though I'm unsure of how else to describe this fierce sense of accomplishment that is swelling my heart and mind over 24 hours later.

But I can sum all of this up nicely with: I cannot wait to do this again in another season. Cannot wait! This is an experience I wouldn't trade for anything.

P.S. If you want to see all of my photos from the flight, you can do so by visiting my set on Flickr. You can totally tell from the two photos of myself that my mood shifted dramatically. In the first, the anxiety is pretty obvious in my forced smile and ridgid posture and in the second, I look happy. :)

P.P.S. If you're ever in North Carolina and want to take a ride, we went through Asheville Hot Air Balloons. Everyone we worked with was amazing. You can visit them here.

Work In Progress Wednesday: Emerging

Hello old friend. It's been a while, hasn't it?

Too long, honestly. Shall we dance then?

Eclectic mix of A Perfect Circle, Muse, Gogol Bordello, The Mars Volta, Nine Inch Nails, etc. plays in the background courtesy of Pandora and I once more find myself dancing with old friends.

Swoops and swirls of vibrant reds furiously spread across the the canvas. Arcing streaks of yellows, becoming orange in places. Frenzied and heavy, swaying and singing with the music as my arm moves in long strokes across the space.

Slow it down. A darkness being swallowed up by fire; yellow spots like constellations creeping in. And out from the ether a figure; glowing, growing yet faceless still. Dancing through a wall of fire, reaching forth from the darkness.

Emerging.

18x24 acrylic on stretched canvas that smelled so strongly of sweet cedar when I removed it's packaging that it was almost minty. A work in progress.

DEEP: Nearing the End

When I began my journey with DEEP, I had meant to keep up with the updates a bit better than I have. In my head, I had this vision that I'd update every week like clockwork and share all the progress and revelations as they happened.

But, as is often the case, life had other plans and while I was painting up a storm, sitting down and writing felt so very heavy and taxing. Like it was going to ruin my flow to attach all this meaning to things as they progressed. And so, I didn't write the updates I was initially hoping to. And you know what? I'm OK with that. I'd rather have nothing written than have it sound forced.

That being said, DEEP officially ended a few weeks back but my painting is still hanging on the wall. I don't have photos of it in it's most current and, most likely, finished state but I have some that are pretty close. It's been an interesting journey, from a door sketched on to a small paper to it's current incarnation. The painting still wants me to add to it, to work in some details and go even deeper in to the juicy stuff it's got for me. And I'm cool with that. It's no rush, I don't need the wall space for anything else at the moment and I'm curious to see what else it needs. I'll update on it again at some point in the future when it's finished and I've had time to really sit and reflect on it. For now though, I'm content with just looking back at its evolution without applying too much meaning to it. So, here's a look back at it:

What I will say though, is that while I was initially terrified of going through this process, I'm incredibly grateful that I didn't close the first video and walk away from my computer like my fear initially drove me to. I'm so glad that I came back, sat with Connie and the rest of my painting sisters, talked it out and worked up the courage to just begin. When we began, I was a bit like "I don't get how this will help me with my painting practice... just one piece for 6 weeks." I was skeptical, at best. But looking back now, I realize that not only did this draw me deeper in to my painting practice, making it a priority and cementing my relationship with art even further, but it also helped me to be a bit more brave and to get better at ruthlessly trusting my intuition. So what if my brain says, "NO! I don't like it!"? If my heart and my guts are saying 'Yes!', then that's where I need to go.

Mostly this has happened with my art, but I can see it breaking in to other aspects of my life as well. So once more, I can truly say, art can change your life. It has mine.

The 40th Hour

We've hit the 40th hour, The Lady and I. (clicking the link will show you how she started out and you can see how far she's come along) The tender ache I feel when working on her was something I felt I needed to push on and work through, despite the discomfort. Art has a funny way of doing that to people, making them uncomfortable but somehow making that discomfort worthwhile. And so, I picked up my brush, put the music back on and let my emotions lead my hand.

And I'm not going to lie; it hurt. Working on her has been laced with a modicum of pain, the sort you keep coming back to - like a canker sore that you keep poking with your tongue or the bruise you continually push on to watch it change color. Yet despite the ache, I keep coming back to her. Stepping up bravely with my brush (and sometimes a bottle of wine) to keep walking this painted path with her. She has something to teach me, something to help me through. She's letting me pour all of my hurt, disappointment and emotional over-load in to her.

The Lady is leading me in to the darkness but will also guide me back out, torch in hand, like sacred Hecate. She has brought me to tears and to my knees before her and still she continues to push me to my emotional and artistic limits. We've hit the 40th hour, she and I, but in the deepest parts of my intuition I know we have many more to traverse. And though the changes may not all be stark and noticeable to those who are not up close with her, they are necessary as she spirals out and expands from my heart and on to the canvas.

I've lost track of the layers of paint she has in to her right now but the least built up portion of the canvas, the green spirals at the bottom, have 10 - 12 layers of paint. So you can imagine how much has gone in to the most built up area, the glowing vortex she holds.