Kyle and I were eating lunch in a large, beautiful park with his older sister. The three of us were sitting at a wooden picnic table, and she casually mentioned that their younger sister, and her boyfriend, were on their way to Mexico. Continue reading “Dream Journal 8/7/17 | Surprise!”
A nurse came in and asked me if I knew how far along I was. Confused, I asked her what she meant, and she informed me that I was pregnant, and pretty far along.
I was lying in a hospital bed, screaming in pain. A friend from high school was sitting by my side, as we waited for the doctor. A nurse came in and asked me if I knew how far along I was. Confused, I asked her what she meant, and she informed me that I was pregnant, and pretty far along. Continue reading “Dream Journal 9/26/16 | Missing Baby”
How dare you.
How dare you. Continue reading “Small Stones 8/26/16”
Whether you’ve had a baby or not, everybody poops, everybody pees, and everybody farts.
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt 6/8/2016 | Embarrassing
Becoming a mom has transformed my life in so many ways, but one thing I did not expect to change, was my absolute fear of embarrassing myself. I was pretty awkward as a kid, a trait I inherited from my mom, and this caused me to develop some pretty bad social anxieties early on, which I still struggle with. Growing up, I was terrified of everything having to do with failure and embarrassment in social situations. Because of this, I avoided going to dances, joining clubs, playing sports, and hanging out with friends, because I just felt like everything that I did would end disastrously. What if I tripped? What if I farted? What if I sneezed AND farted? WHAT IF I HAD TO POOP AT SOMEONE ELSE’S HOUSE?
Well, let me tell you, all of that anxiety flew out the window when my son was born… actually, it dissipated pretty quickly only a few months into my pregnancy. I found myself pushing my boundaries, reaching out to friends, as well as strangers, and talking about things having to do with me and my body, that I previously would have been embarrassed about. That strange comfort is still with me today. Sure, I have a whole new set of anxieties that I deal with, but when it comes to embarrassing bodily functions? Ha!
Example: Pooping during childbirth. Very common, most women do it. I did it. Yup, I did. Get over it. Your mom probably pooped, too! I didn’t even know about it until one of my nurses let it slip later on, after my son’s arrival, and honestly, I wasn’t embarrassed. I laughed! And everything that followed the birth of my son… I will save your sanity and stomachs, for those who are unfamiliar with what happens to a woman’s body after birth, but let’s just say, I accepted all of it. I wasn’t embarrassed to tell people that I had to go change my pad for the second or third time while visiting their houses, or that my boobs felt hard and painful, and leaked all the time. I wasn’t ashamed. I wasn’t embarrassed. I had already pooped myself in front of half a dozen people, while crouching naked on a bed, pushing a human being from between my legs (graphic, sorry).
Why should I be embarrassed?
Whether you’ve had a baby or not, everybody poops, everybody pees, and everybody farts. Most women have periods, and use pads, tampons, or menstrual cups. Most men get erections, sometimes quite unexpectedly, and unwanted. It happens. The human body is weird, and complicated, and sometimes gross, but it is nothing to be embarrassed about.
I should take my own advice, as I am still embarrassed about a lot of things about my body (adult acne, anyone?), but I’ve gotten so much better at accepting all of the strange things that my body does, and you should, too! Everybody poops.
Thanks for reading, friends.
Kyle and I were walking in a large department store, and several women kept stopping me and asking me when I was due. I got embarrassed and angry, because I wasn’t pregnant, but said nothing to them. After the 10th woman asked me, I turned to Kyle and asked him if I looked pregnant, and he looked at my stomach, hesitated, and told me that I looked very pregnant. I looked down, and sure enough, I looked 9 months pregnant, ready to pop.
Sure enough, as soon as we got home, my water broke, and we rushed to the hospital in a panic, because we were completely unprepared for a second baby, and hadn’t even known I was pregnant.
My delivery only took minutes, and then the nurse handed a very large baby boy to me. He was huge. She informed me that he was 18 pounds and 6 ounces. I was speechless. Everything was foggy, and the nurse brought in a birth certificate, and told me I had to write his name down on it. Kyle had stepped out of the room, and despite the fact that we already had our names picked out for our potential future kids, I wrote “Joseph James” on the birth certificate… which is not the name we agreed on. Then, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, Kyle was waving the birth certificate in my face, asking why I wrote that name down. I didn’t know. I asked the nurse if I could change it, since that wasn’t the name we wanted, but she said it was too late, and told us to pack our bags, because they needed the room. I protested, as I had literally given birth a few hours prior, but she continued to rush us, and then pushed us out the door. I cried the whole drive home, completely overwhelmed, and not sure what we were going to do. We only had one crib, and absolute not clothes for a newborn, even though he was very large.
When we got back to the apartment, we sent the babysitter home, and I crawled into bed with my toddler and my newborn, and just cried.
And then I woke up.
Hello, friends! Recently, my good friend, Lindsey, asked to interview Kyle and I on our pregnancy/birth/baby experiences as part of a school assignment, and I was more than happy to do it! I thought it would be fun to share with you our answers, so you get a chance to hear a bit from the daddy part of our parenting duo. I had so much fun doing this interview, and it made me miss being pregnant! The baby fever is REAL, guys! Here was our interview:
1. How did you find out that you going to become a parent?
We weren’t trying to have a baby, per se, but we weren’t preventing it. We both wanted a baby, and after a while, I had my suspicions that it finally happened. I went to the store and bought two of those 88 cent pregnancy tests, the ones with the silly droppers, and sure enough, they came out positive!
I was excited. Really excited.
A breeze, honestly. They say something like 2/3 of women experience morning sickness, which can last for months, or the entire pregnancy, but I never had any at all. I never had any symptoms at all until the last few weeks when my feet swelled, which was awful!
I wish I had been more informed of my options, and what could go wrong during labor and delivery. Despite a healthy pregnancy, I developed preeclampsia during labor, and had to be put on a Magnesium drip to keep my blood pressure down, but then it dropped really low, which made me incredibly sick. I had an epidural as well, and Pitocin to help my labor, so I didn’t feel anything at all. I was exhausted though, and slept a lot. I labored for about 14 hours, and pushed for an hour and a half. The pushing was the worst. My epidural had started to wear off, and I was starting to feel again. It was weird though, because I didn’t feel pain, just a LOT of pressure. My partner had to leave the room, and after pushing on my back for an hour, they had me switch to the supine position (on all fours), which was awful, and a lot harder. I felt like I didn’t have a lot of control or say in what happened, and when they would tell me to push, I felt like it wasn’t the right time. Yet when I knew it was time to push, they told me not to. It was really stressful, and I felt very alone, despite being in a room full of people.
The moment they handed my son to me. I was still on my knees and elbows, and they handed him to me through my legs. I felt completely numb, and overwhelmingly happy, seeing his face for the first time. That made all the pain, the sickness, and the 4-day hospital stay totally worth it!
Pain. A lot of pain. You hear a lot about the pain of birth, but no one ever talks about what your body goes through afterwards. I bled for six weeks, and because I suffered a 4th degree perineal tear during delivery, I had a hard time doing much of anything. Housework went completely undone, because my partner had to go back to work early, and I was alone all day, every day, with this newborn. It was a little overwhelming.
Honestly, some things were easier, and some things were harder. Not to toot my own horn, but I discovered that I was kind of a natural at the whole motherhood thing. I knew exactly what my son wanted based on his crying, and that made things so easy. He was such a good baby, too! Slept great, didn’t have any colic, and ate like a tiny linebacker. The hardest, most disappointing thing for me, personally, was not being able to breastfeed. I had all these hopes that I was going to exclusively breastfeed, but it never happened for us. He just wouldn’t latch, and I found it impossible to pump enough. I still feel guilty about it.
Within weeks, if not earlier. The first few nights were a bit of a shock, and really confusing. I didn’t have any family or friends to help me, or answer questions, so I relied a lot on the internet to get me through it. I read a lot, and it paid off. He was only a few weeks old and I felt like a pro. It relieved a lot of stress and worry.
Honestly, yeah, a little bit. Getting him to change a diaper, even 13 months later, is a fight. He used to get frustrated so easily when the baby cried, and he didn’t know why. It is frustrating, feeling like you are doing 99% of the work in raising your child, especially when the other parent is actually there, but he helps out when he is able, which I appreciate.
Completely. I feel really bad about it, really, because we had a great sex life before, even when I was 7 or 8 months pregnant. But thanks to my traumatic delivery, it has been difficult. My body took a very long time to heal, and it is still uncomfortable for me to have sex now, but there isn’t much I can do about it.
The judgment. Parenting itself came easily to me, but the judgment that I’ve received from family, friends, and even complete strangers, is disheartening. Every little thing that I post online, someone always has to say something. Everything from not being able to breastfeed, to co-sleeping (which we stopped doing when my son turned 6 months old), to letting him use a pacifier. Someone always thinks you’re doing something wrong. It took me a long time to adjust to that, and to realize that my son is happy, healthy, and crazy far ahead in his development, so they can go find someone else to judge!
Lately, it has been being able to actually PLAY with my son. He is finally walking and running around, and it makes life so much more fun. Before, when he was just a tiny thing, we could only play on one spot, on the floor, which was great… but this is so much better. Seeing him grow and develop, and learn new things, it is so amazing.
We kind of knew for a while that it was going to happen. She bought a few pregnancy tests, and I was outside the bathroom door, and then we knew she was pregnant.
I was a little scared, but I was happy, too.
Not very different really. She didn’t have any cravings, or mood swings, or anything like that. Her stomach just grew.
Scary. I wasn’t able to be in the room, I just couldn’t handle it. I was still there, on the other side of the curtain, but it was still scary. I was expecting her to scream, like they always show on shows and in the movies, but she didn’t scream at all.
I remember when Janise threw up on me, because she had to take Magnesium, and it made her really sick. She wasn’t even completely awake when it happened. They didn’t let her eat anything, but then they gave her an apple, because she was so weak, but it didn’t stay down. That, and cutting the umbilical cord, which I did do!
A lot of crying. I got really sick right after he was born, and we found out it was because of my blood pressure, and probably stress. So I remember a lot of crying, and being sick all the time.
No, it was actually a lot easier. I thought it was going to be like death, or the end of everything normal, but it has been really easy. He is really good.
Umm, I think after he turned 5 or 6 months old, and he wasn’t so tiny anymore. It was less scary. I was always afraid to do anything when he was really small.
Not really. It has been really cool to see her as a mom though.
YES. It did! Drastically.
I can’t really think of anything. I didn’t have a life or friends previously, so not much has changed about my social life, except now there are three of us here. She’s made it pretty easy for me. I don’t have to change any of the bad diapers.
Seeing how goofy my son is. He’s just like me. The weird faces he makes, and just how silly and funny he is, it just makes my day. He is a funny kid.
Thanks for reading, friends! Thanks again to Lindsey for choosing to interview us. I hope you enjoyed our answers!
Was your pregnancy/birth experience similar to ours?
Jan (and Kyle!)
Hello, friends. I want to share something with you that I don’t talk much about. It’s not a secret, per se, but just not something I generally talk about. I have trichotillomania. For those of you who don’t know what that long, bizarre word means, here is an even longer definition:
“Trichotillomania (trik-o-til-o-MAY-nee-uh) is a disorder that involves recurrent, irresistible urges to pull out hair from your scalp, eyebrows or other areas of your body, despite trying to stop.
Hair pulling from the scalp often leaves patchy bald spots, which causes significant distress and can interfere with social or work functioning. People with trichotillomania may go to great lengths to disguise the loss of hair.
For some people, trichotillomania may be mild and generally manageable. For others, the compulsive urge to pull hair is overwhelming. Some treatment options have helped many people reduce their hair pulling or stop entirely.” ~ Mayo Clinic
This affliction is actually fairly common, and there are so many different degrees of severity. I honestly don’t know how long I’ve had trichotillomania, but I remember becoming aware of it around the 8th grade. My symptoms are not nearly as severe as some people that I know (I went to school with a girl who had to wear beanies to hide small bald patches from her pulling her hair out), which I am thankful for, and they pop up randomly, usually when I am stressed, anxious, or upset, but sometimes I do it out of boredom, and don’t even notice it. I pull my facial hair, specifically, my eyebrows and eyelashes. When I was younger, I had long, thick, black eyelashes. If you’ve seen pictures of my son, picture those beautiful eyeballs of his, on my face, with blue irises.
Look at him! He’s perfect. He got those eyes from his mama.
Circa 2008 or so.
These days, both my eyelashes and eyebrows are coarse and unappealing. My eyelashes are still long, but there are noticeable (to me) gaps between them, making them look clumpy. It makes wearing mascara difficult, because I then drive myself crazy trying to separate the clumps, and end up with black fingers. I also can’t wear eyeliner well on my upper eyelids because of the thick gaps in my eyelashes, and how thick the skin is at the root. I am actually incredibly embarrassed about these things. I’ve also, on more than one occasion, pulled my eyelashes out so violently, that it caused my eyelid to become swollen and red. Try explaining that to someone who doesn’t understand mental disorders.
Most days, when I’m home alone with the baby, makeup free, I am okay with it. I don’t mind the gaps in my lashes, or the coarseness of my eyebrows… until someone mentions my son’s lashes. My mother and grandmother, specifically, are able to get under my skin about this. It isn’t their fault, as neither of them know about my struggles with trichotillomania, and likely haven’t noticed the difference in my face, as I haven’t seen either of them in years, but it still gets to me. I sometimes find myself feeling jealous of my one-year old son, because he has these beautiful lashes, and I will probably never have that again. Coincidentally, my trichotillomania worsened after my son was born, but has gotten a bit better.
“He has your eyes! You always had such gorgeous lashes!”
“Look at those LASHES! Just like his mommy!”
“You had the prettiest eyelashes when you were younger, too!”
Past tense now, of course.
It can take several weeks to several months for eyelashes to grow back, though there are little tricks to get them to grow faster and thicker. Of course, the rate at which they grow back means nothing if you continue to pull others out in the meantime. It’s a vicious cycle. I’m also a compulsive skin picker (hurray, adult acne!), but that’s a whooole other problem. Just add that to the list of weird things that add to my many reasons that I suffer from such severe self-esteem issues.
Does anyone else suffer from trichotillomania? Were you aware that there was even a term for it? How has it affected your life?
Thanks for reading, friends.
I was walking around Walmart with Liam, when Kyle came running through the front doors. He came up to me, angry, and told me that his mother and step-father had just had a baby. I was stunned, as they are 49 and… 50 something, respectively, and we didn’t know that she was pregnant.
He wasn’t upset that they had a baby in secret, however… he was upset at the name. They named the baby, who was a boy, Stevenson Robertson Rutledge. And he was furious about the name(s). I tried to tell him that it wasn’t that bad, and that he could go by a nickname if he wanted, but he was too angry to listen. He kept saying that he would get bullied.
And then I woke up to a crying baby at 2:30 in the morning.
Kyle and I had bought a new truck, but it wasn’t new. It looked quite futuristic, and was shiny and cool looking, but it was apparently 30 years old, and riddled with problems. Just a few days after we bought it, it stopped working entirely, and we went back to the dealership to talk to the owner.
The owner was a 90-year old woman, who was dressed in a matronly, blue dress, and pearls around her neck. The outside of the shop looked like a large dealership, with a massive garage attached, but the inside looked like an old, Victorian home, and was decorated with dusty, antique furniture. Every surface in the waiting area was covered with doilies.
We were waiting by the doors, avoiding sitting on any of the musty furniture, and watching the elderly woman talk shop with another customer, who seemed quite unsatisfied. The woman’s language was quite… explicit, and her demeanor certainly did not match her conservative, maternal appearance.
They were arguing loudly, swearing at each other…
And then I woke up.
Today, my beautiful, baby boy turns one. I’ve had him in my life for a whole year, and it has been the most incredible experience. As well as writing a post about all of his milestones up to this point, I thought I would share the story of his birth. Warning, it is a bit graphic in some parts.
On January 23, 2015, my life changed forever.
I woke up at 5:07am with stomach pains. It was one day past my due date, and I thought I was just having Braxton Hicks contractions. I hadn’t had a single contraction through my whole pregnancy, and honestly had no idea what to expect. I waddled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I threw up. I hadn’t thrown up once during my entire pregnancy either. In fact, I hadn’t thrown up in years. After throwing up a second time, I walked back to my room, and tried to fall back asleep.
Several minutes later, more stomach pains caused me to jolt awake. I walked to the bathroom once more, and threw up once again. Then, it hit me. This was it. My son was on his way. I sat there for a while with my phone, timing my contractions, to see where I was at. They were anywhere from 8-13 minutes apart, and not too severe. I walked out to the couch and turned on Netflix, deciding to let Kyle sleep in a little longer.
Around 7:00, I walked to the room to let Kyle know that my labor had started, but told him there was no rush. He immediately got out of bed, and began making sure our hospital bags were ready for us to leave. I just laughed and sat back on the couch.
At 7:30, I decided to take a shower. I was still able to stand and walk without much difficulty, and my contractions were still around 7-8 minutes apart. I put on a little make up, double checked our hospital bags, and sat back on the couch to watch Netflix. I labored at home until around 8:45, when my contractions started coming every 2-3 minutes, and even walking them off was becoming painful. We left the apartment at 8:50, and arrived at the hospital just minutes later. I checked in (I had submitted all my paperwork weeks in advance), and waddled up to the maternity ward.
I changed into my hideous hospital gown, and waited for them to tell me which one of my midwives was on duty that day. I was relieved when they told me that my favorite midwife, Liz, would be delivering my son… if I gave birth that day.
Liz came in to check me, and was surprised to find that I was already 7cm. dilated, and that I wasn’t in much pain. She commented on being able to feel my son’s head, and mentioned that she could feel that he would have a lot of hair, which made me smile. She also mentioned that he was in the posterior position (head-down but facing your abdomen), which could possibly lead to complications during delivery, but I wasn’t too worried. She asked me if I wanted an epidural, and I quickly answered yes. The anesthesiologists came in to administer the epidural, and I made the mistake of catching a glance at the needle that they were about to insert into my back. The extremely attractive duo informed me that I would only feel a pinch, and then I wouldn’t feel anything.
They were absolutely right, and it was glorious.
Unfortunately, my painless high did not last. The nurse came in to check my blood pressure, which had been a bit high in the last week of my pregnancy, and informed me that they thought I may have Preeclampsia. They tested my urine, and sure enough, they found protein. Because I was already in labor, they chose to let things progress on their own. My heart rate was fine, and my baby was doing great. They gave me Pitocin to try any speed up my labor a bit, as well as a Magnesium drip for my Preeclampsia, and fluids to keep me hydrated, as I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything. I had forgot to have breakfast that morning, and I was starving.
The Magnesium drip made me so, so sick. I was able to get some sleep, thanks to my epidural, and was in and out of consciousness for several hours, only waking up to vomit, or when the nurses needed to check me. They did not insert a catheter, even though I had an epidural, and also had to wake me every hour so that I could pee into a bed pan, which was really awkward and strange. I couldn’t feel anything! Despite the nausea and exhaustion, I felt great, with zero pain. Kyle and I excitedly talked about the arrival of our baby boy, and Kyle started sending out the texts to let family know we were in the hospital.
Hours passed. Many hours. I could see that it had gotten dark outside, but I had no idea what time it was. The pressure was getting intense, and I could no longer sleep, so Kyle and I watched some TV for a few hours. The nurses kept coming in to check me, but it felt like I was stuck at only 8-9cm. dilated for the entire day. Finally, just after 7:30pm, they told me it was just about time to start pushing. Since 12 hours had passed, the anesthesiologists came in to touch up my epidural, which had started to wear off. I still didn’t feel any pain from contractions, but there was definitely pressure. And it was incredibly uncomfortable.
Suddenly, I was terrified.
Liz, my team of nurses, and Kyle were at my side. Liz and Kyle each held one of my legs, and I was instructed on when to push, and what I should be feeling. After several minutes of practice pushes, Kyle left the room. While I had expected this to happen, as Kyle has a weak stomach, and does not do well in high pressure situations, it scared me, and I suddenly felt alone. Liz took charge, instructing one of the nurses to grab my other leg, and the pushing continued.
Once again, no pain. Tons of pressure.
After 45 minutes of pushing on my back, Liz instructed me to get on all fours, and rest my chest on the top of the bed. This is when I started to feel some pain. Or something.
I found pushing in this position to be much more difficult, but Liz informed me that it was progressing much more quickly that way. I don’t remember much, just a lot of pushing, and the nurses laughing at me when I responded with, “I can do better!” when I was told that I was doing great.
Another 45 minutes of pushing, and Liam was finally here. He came out sideways, of course, and caused quite a bit of damage with his shoulders. One of the nurses passed him to me between my legs, and I was able to finally lay my eyes on my son. He was perfect. His head was covered with thick, black hair, and his skin was perfect, and not wrinkly or splotchy like some newborns are. He looked just like his daddy. I remember thinking, that is a BIG baby!
Kyle came back into the room to cut the cord, and I remembered repeating, “Hello, baby boy!” over and over again, before they took him away to get him cleaned and measured. I sobbed with joy. And shock. Kyle was at my side, holding my hand when I was instructed to push again, to push out my placenta. It came easily, and unfortunately for him, Kyle got to see the whooole thing. He handled it quite well!
Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold my son, or attempt to nurse him, for another hour and a half. Liz informed me that I had a 4th degree perineal tear (the worst kind), probably because of the position that I was in when I delivered, and the position Liam was in when he came out, and would need a lot of stitches. I then met the newest doctor to the practice, who was almost unbelievably good looking, and he proceeded to sew my lady parts back together.
I remember Liz and the other nurses laughing and commenting on how calm and talkative I was, considering that I had just gone through 14 hours of labor, and 1.5 hours of pushing, and a pretty significant degree of tearing. I was calm. I was happy. I was exhausted. I still wasn’t feeling any pain. I wanted to see my son.
There was also a comment made about how my lady parts didn’t look like “ground hamburger“, which apparently some look like after experiencing this type of tearing… good for me?
My baby boy came into this world at 9:01pm, at 21 inches long, and 7 pounds 15 ounces. He was absolutely perfect.
Unfortunately, despite my plans to exclusively nurse, Liam was unable to latch. There was nothing wrong with him, he just didn’t want to, no matter what we tried. Even the lactation consultant couldn’t help us. He also would not use a nipple shield. I ended up pumping, but it broke my heart, not being able to have my baby latch onto me, to feed him from my breast.
It got worse.
I was in the hospital for a total of 4 days. For the first 2 days, I was horribly sick from the Magnesium that I was on, and was extremely nauseous and drowsy. Kyle also spent most of his time throwing up, due to stress and exhaustion, which made for a very stressful environment. I sent him home on the 3rd day so that I could have some quiet.
I also received harsh criticism from Kyle’s family, who were not allowed to visit in the first 24 hours, which was hospital policy, and was told that they wouldn’t be visiting because that was the only day any of them could come, despite only living 15-30 minutes away. Kyle’s youngest sister, who was 17 at the time, was also not permitted to visit, because no one under the age of 18 is allowed to visit the maternity ward during cold and flu season, once again, hospital policy. For four days, I had no one. No one came to take pictures. It was just me, my broken body, my beautiful baby, and my baby’s father, who couldn’t get up from the couch without throwing up. Not to mention, the unnecessary drama that my son’s birth had created. It was hard, and it hurt.
When we went home, Kyle was called back into work immediately, despite having taken a week off to help me in our first week as new parents. He went back to work early, and I was alone with our baby, who still refused to nurse. He also would only sleep if I was holding him, and refused to sleep in his bassinet, swing, or bouncer, which made finding time to pump impossible. I had no help from anyone, and experienced a lot of frustration and depression over not being able to nurse or breastfeed. After a few weeks, I switched to formula, and have harbored so many regrets.
My healing process was relatively smooth. When I went in for my 6 week postpartum exam, she commented on how great a job the doctor had done sewing me up. Despite my 4th degree tear, I didn’t have much residual pain, my bleeding had completely stopped, and I hadn’t experienced any incontinence. I felt great… despite having some pretty bad postpartum depression, which I wish I had talked about more. I gained 31 pounds during my entire pregnancy, but lost all of it, plus an extra pound, before we even left the hospital. I was put on blood pressure medication, but after a few months, my blood pressure returned to normal, and I haven’t needed it since.
I also ended up sleeping on the couch for 3 months with Liam, before we got a new couch (our old couch was actually a small love seat), and Kyle switched with us, allowing Liam and I to co-sleep in the bed together. When Liam was 6 months old, I transitioned him to his crib, which went fairly smoothly, and he has been sleeping on his own, mostly through the night, ever since. My back, however, has still not recovered from those several months of love seat sleeping.
It has been quite a journey, this last year… but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not one, single thing.
And I can’t wait do it all over again in the future.
Thanks for reading, friends.
The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt 1/20/2016 | Witness Protection
“When you do something scary or stressful — bungee jumping, public speaking, etc. — do you prefer to be surrounded by friends or by strangers? Why?”
I’m a lone wolf, baby.
I’ve always preferred to deal with my stress and my problems on my own, even when they become overwhelming. That’s just how it has always been. I don’t really consider public speaking or bungee jumping to be that stressful, at least for me, but when I moved across the country (and even to a different country), I did it on my own. When I was kicked out of my ex’s apartment that we shared, and was forced to find a new place to live quickly, I did it myself. I didn’t really have anyone to support me. I never have.
When my son was born, I didn’t want anyone there other than my son’s father, and my nurses and midwife… unfortunately, Kyle wasn’t exactly there when our son made his debut into the world. Well, he was, but he was on the other side of the curtain, because he couldn’t handle it. I had my team of nurses and my midwife, and that was it. No one holding my hand, no one stroking my hair, no one comforting me. Just like my life has always been.
And I got through it, just like I always do.
I have always done better on my own. It keeps me focused, and gives me a sense of control, in a world where, realistically, I don’t have much control at all. I’ve never been the kind of person to allow others to shoulder my burdens, because I’ve always had to deal with them myself, as it should be.
Thanks for reading, friends.