Whatever Wednesday: When did I get OLD?

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I remember Nirvana’s Nevermind album like it was yesterday. Holding the cassette case in my hand, the baby floating on the cover, the soft blue waves, slipping the tape into my Sony Walkman and pressing Play (sometimes several times because the button would never STICK all the way down unless you got masochistic with it) and drifting away as diesel fumes from the bus wafted in through semi-open windows. Kurt’s haunting voice straining to be heard over the loud engine as the wheels rolled over back country dirt roads. Those were the days.

U2’s Achtung Baby. Oh, how I LOVED this album. Mysterious Ways. Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses. Even Better than the Real Thing. Trying to Throw your Arms Around the World. A definitive album for U2 and one which changed their sound and bonded them back together as a band. I also had the cassette for this album. I remember the smell of the hard plastic as I broke through the protective covering. Pulling out the cover and gingerly flipping it open all the way to read the lyrics as it blasted from my bedroom stereo.

Both albums released 20 year anniversary editions this year.

You can get them on CD now. I can even listen to them digitally through Spotify. No more cassettes. No more brown shiny thread surfing over the heads of a stereo. No more rewinding the cassette with the eraser end of a pencil. Nope. Not these days. Now, it’s all point and click. Mostly with a touch of your finger at that.

This morning I awoke to the news that the Beastie Boys, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Guns N Roses are all headed for induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Wait, what?

Didn’t Licensed to Ill JUST come out?

Sweet child O’Mine isn’t that old, is it? November Rain? Welcome to the Jungle? Every Rose Has it’s Thorn?

Under the Bridge? Soul to Squeeze? Give it Away? Otherside?

What about No Sleep Till Brooklyn? Brass Monkey? Sure Shot? Or Fight for your Right?

I don’t remember trading in Fight for Your Right for a spot in Geriatricville. Do you?

As long as none of the band members are endorsing life insurance, Medicaid, Just for Men, “I’ve fallen & I Can’t get Up,” or Centrum Silver, I’m not gonna let this bother me. I’m not. Because I’m only as old as I let myself feel right? Right?

Today though?

I’m feeling it. Big time.

 

On Accepting Myself

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“Do you accept yourself, as you are?” my therapist asked, as she sat across from me, staring at me, awaiting an answer.

My lips tingled, the feeling spread to my nose and upward. I thought long and hard, my lips twitching every so often as I readied an appropriate answer. Alas, the only appropriate answer suprised even me. I shook and stuttered, my throat nearly closing with fear as it escaped my vocal cords and traveled forever before escaping my lips.

“No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, dammit. Because so much has changed? Because I don’t know who I am anymore?”

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know.”

I don’t know.

It’s a frightening thing to realize you don’t know who you are anymore. To realize you lost yourself somewhere along the way. In your head, you retrace all your steps. All your missteps. Your judgments. Your choices. You wonder where you lost your sense of self. Why you lost your sense of self. Did you sacrifice it for a worthy cause? Did a thief sneak in and steal it? Did you stop caring? What the hell happened to you? When did you give into the vortex and let life sweep away your essence? How do you get it back?

Slowly. Deliberately. Passionately.

Once you’ve realized you’ve lost yourself, there’s room for re-invention. For rediscovering your essence and purpose. Sure, what’s gone needs to be mourned. But the possibilities for what can be are limitless and only bound to confines created by you. There’s no box. No pre-determined fate into which you must mold yourself. There’s only the infinite possibility of what you will become. Freedom awaits you. All you have to do is reach out and grab it, hold on, and enjoy the ride.

Postpartum Voice of the Week: @ewokmama’s journey with jack

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Not too long ago, I was featured over in Band Back Together’s “Go to 11” series. I was honoured to be given the opportunity to share my story with the Band readers and community. It’s my turn to share Crystal’s story of PPD with her son Jack with you here at My Postpartum Voice. Crystal is an editor and board member over at the Band.

It takes courage to share your Postpartum story but as more and more of us refuse to be silenced by the stigma surrounding our journeys, the less hold stigma has on us. Thank you, Crystal, for sharing your story with us here.

I was terrified of my brand new baby.

 

I was working hard to try to breastfeed.  I had read all the books, visited with the lactation consultant, and I still couldn’t figure out how to get him latched properly.  My nipples were raw and bleeding.  I quickly decided I hated breastfeeding, but I was stubborn and refused to admit defeat.  I WOULD be the perfect mother and I would NOT fail.

 

As I latched Jack onto my breast again and gritted my teeth in pain, fear snuck into my brain.  I suddenly feared my baby was evil and that he was hurting me on purpose.  I resisted the urge to throw him from me, to shrink from his presence.  I looked away from his eyes and tears ran down my face.  I felt ridiculous – this was my baby, my son, not some gollum!  How in the world could I fear my own child, an infant only a few days old?

 

I admit, I wasn’t sleeping well at night.  My son would sleep for three hours at a time, which was pretty amazing for a newborn, but I had trouble nodding off because I worried I wouldn’t wake up if he cried.  I needed to get to him the moment he stirred, or the crying would rip me apart – I would be cowing in a corner and crying myself.  His crying was pure torture and if I couldn’t stop it, I would have to kill myself.  I just COULD NOT handle it.

 

I had read about post-partum depression.  In fact, I had had it after a miscarriage the prior year.  My husband and I had talked about how I could avoid falling into that hole again.  Knowing is half the battle, right?

 

Unfortunately, he went back to work a week after Jack was born and all our family members went back home.  I was alone.  I spent hours in our apartment by myself; we lived in a town far from family and the friends there were my husband’s.  I didn’t know what to do with my kid.  I was anxious when he was awake and I spent his naps worrying about when he would wake up.

 

Things improved when I joined a mother’s group, when I was able to get out of the house and hear about other mothers’ struggles.  Still, I was too embarrassed, too ashamed to talk about my feelings toward my baby.  I worried that if I admitted to feeling afraid of Jack, admitted to feeling like I needed to get away from him, someone would call Child Protective Services and my child would be taken away.  Surely they would think I was too crazy and incompetent to be left in charge of a baby.

 

I wish I had reached out earlier.  I wish I had contacted my OB much sooner, rather than waiting and living with these feelings.  My early days with my son are a blur of fear, stress, and exhaustion; PPD overshadowed all the good moments.  I did not enjoy my baby for nearly two years of his life and I regret that to this day.

 

If you struggle with these feelings, please reach out to someone.  The community at Band Back Together can help – we have a wide variety of individuals who have survived PPD (and everything else on the mental illness spectrum).  There are people who will understand what you are dealing with, who won’t judge you, and who can give you the support and kick in the pants to take control of your situation.  You do not have to be alone.

 

 

Crystal, aka Ewokmama, is a re-married mother to one alien/superhero/transformer boy named Jack. She is an obsessive multi-tasker, making her the perfect Executive Assistant at a software firm in San Francisco. When not parenting her fierce and fuzzy ewok-child, Crystal can often be found tending to her Facebook game crops on the laptop while simultaneously dominating Words With Friends on her iPhone and explaining the family’s finances to her devastatingly handsome and uproariously funny husband (who didn’t help write this bio at all). Not to mention that she will be taste-testing cupcakes and sipping wine, as well.

 

As a trauma survivor learning to live a normalish life with Chronic Depression, PPD and PTSD, Crystal feels very strongly about the need to connect with others when experiencing difficulties in life. For this reason she has dedicated time to mentoring new mothers who are learning to breastfeed, sharing her own parenting struggles and triumphs on her own blog, Ewokmama.com, and becoming a member of Band Back Together.