Wow! It’s been a while since I’ve last posted. I think I missed the entire month of May! I've been busy doing some other writing, spending time with my two favorite males, and well let's be honest, napping a little more often now that I'm once again brewing another human in my belly! Summer is in full swing, the birds are chirping, the grill is gettin’ regular action, and the mountains beckon on a daily basis as the temps soar into the 90s here in Denver. Ben is crawling his way towards the 1 year mark, which he will hit in only 3 weeks. And we will find out the sex of our second baby in a mere 2 weeks. Yes, there’s a lot goin’ on around here. June is the month when the trees and flowers are in full bloom here in Denver, and it also happens to be, like Ben, the month of my birth. I think that between all of the new life and growth surrounding me and the realization that I am another year older (and wiser, right?), it’s urged me to do some reflecting, dreaming, hoping, and planning. It has also caused me to ponder what it means to “live into who I am.” I’ve always said that the twenties are great because it’s a time of discovery, discovering who you are, what you love, and what you want your life to be about. And then the thirties are this marvelous time when you sort of settle in to who you are, hopefully having accepted (for the most part) who you are and who you’re not, being comfortable with what you’re good at and easily acknowledging those areas in which you are, shall we say, less than gifted!
I was really enjoying this stage of life, feeling like I’d developed a pretty strong sense of who I am, learning to care a lot less what other people think of me, when I got pregnant. After Ben was born, I quit my full-time job as a therapist to be a stay-at-home mom. And let me say, I love being at home with Ben and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. At the same time, it’s a new season and I have a new role, a big one. And I’ve spent the last year attempting to figure out or perhaps understand who I am as a mom, as well as remember the things I’m passionate about and how they fit with my new role. I’m reminded that I love writing, I love exercising and being outdoors, and I love connecting with others. So, I am trying to do those things on a consistent basis. Of course they look different now, as I fit my writing into the chunks of time when Ben is sleeping, I work out by pushing Ben in the stroller or carrying him on my back, and I usually connect with others at places like the playground or the pool. Yes, my life does revolve around my family, but I like it that way and it doesn’t mean that I still can’t pursue those things which are at the core of who I am. It all just takes on a new shape and I realize that it takes some time to figure out what that shape is.
As I’ve spent time reflecting and dreaming, I’ve had moments where the temptation to compare has gotten the best of me. I’ve always said that comparison is the thief of all joy. I will never live into who I am supposed to be if in my head, I am too busy comparing myself with (read: not measuring up to) other moms around me. Will I ever be the mom who keeps the perfect house that’s always clean? Nope. Will I ever be the mom who remembers to give my son his vitamin D drop or brush his 2 teeth twice a day? Probably not. Will I ever be the mom who works full-time, starts her own non-profit, and still manages to shuttle her kids to their sporting events AND cook gourmet meals (like a friend of mine)? Again, the chances are slim to none. Will I ever be a person who functions fabulously on 6 hours of sleep? Definitely not.
But for all the characteristics that I don’t possess, there are just as many that I do. And for me, it’s all about learning to accept who I’m not, embrace who I am, and still leave room for the possibility that I could become something I’m not yet aware of. It’s taken me a year, and that’s not to say that I’ve got it all figured out because that would be a big fat lie, but I’m once again starting to feel more comfortable with who I am. I am a wife, I am a mom, I am a friend, I am a runner, and I am a writer, among other things. So, here’s to dreams taking shape, goals being set, and living into who I was created to be. What does that look like for you to live into who you really are today?
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
A Word From The Hubs
So, my husband is in the final year of his PhD program at Colorado School of Mines and he recently wrote an essay for a scholarship application. In the essay, he answers what the term, "open communication" means to him. I am so proud of all he has accomplished and how hard he's worked, all the while working at his full-time job and becoming the daddy to our son (and all that comes with having a newborn!). But I was so impressed with this essay, probably because I feel like he embodies everything that he wrote so well. So, I just had to share it. I love his heart and this essay reflects just one of countless other things I love about him:
Open Communication
To know and to be known are two core values that all human beings share. We gain a sense of intrinsic value when we realize that we have something significant to offer others and when those around us deem us competent and valuable within our personal realms of expertise. The vehicle for sharing knowledge is open communication and transparency, which can thrive in an environment where people feel free to be who they are. For communication to be effective, mutual respect and acceptance are imperative. All parties must believe both that they have something to contribute to the conversation, and that they have something to learn from others, unencumbered by the artificial stereotypes that are so easily imposed on them. Active listening, which involves repeating back what is heard and further engaging by asking follow-up questions, is a great way to show respect for an individual’s viewpoint. Another way is to represent personal viewpoints as flexible, rather than rigid, thereby giving others permission to offer alternate or challenging viewpoints. Finally, communication is sustainable when carried out with consistent integrity, honesty and authenticity. If communication is conducted in the above manner it can be both freeing and life-giving. In a corporate setting, effective open communication fosters trust, deepens respect, stirs creativity, unifies coworkers and promotes greater productivity.
In both my personal and student life, I value authenticity deeply. I strive each day to represent myself in an honest light, displaying my strengths and being vulnerable with my shortcomings. I have found that in group settings, leading with weakness can be very freeing for others; when they see that I am someone who excels at some things yet struggles with others, the burden of having to represent themselves in an artificial light is lifted, and they are able to communicate openly without fear of condemnation or judgment. I’ve also learned that it is far easier and more effective to learn from another than it is to learn from a book. I value mentors, friends and mentees, as it is important to learn from those who walk ahead, to share with those who walk beside, and to pass on to those who follow. Practicing authenticity and engaging in successful mentoring relationships both hold effective and open communication at their core.
Open Communication
To know and to be known are two core values that all human beings share. We gain a sense of intrinsic value when we realize that we have something significant to offer others and when those around us deem us competent and valuable within our personal realms of expertise. The vehicle for sharing knowledge is open communication and transparency, which can thrive in an environment where people feel free to be who they are. For communication to be effective, mutual respect and acceptance are imperative. All parties must believe both that they have something to contribute to the conversation, and that they have something to learn from others, unencumbered by the artificial stereotypes that are so easily imposed on them. Active listening, which involves repeating back what is heard and further engaging by asking follow-up questions, is a great way to show respect for an individual’s viewpoint. Another way is to represent personal viewpoints as flexible, rather than rigid, thereby giving others permission to offer alternate or challenging viewpoints. Finally, communication is sustainable when carried out with consistent integrity, honesty and authenticity. If communication is conducted in the above manner it can be both freeing and life-giving. In a corporate setting, effective open communication fosters trust, deepens respect, stirs creativity, unifies coworkers and promotes greater productivity.
In both my personal and student life, I value authenticity deeply. I strive each day to represent myself in an honest light, displaying my strengths and being vulnerable with my shortcomings. I have found that in group settings, leading with weakness can be very freeing for others; when they see that I am someone who excels at some things yet struggles with others, the burden of having to represent themselves in an artificial light is lifted, and they are able to communicate openly without fear of condemnation or judgment. I’ve also learned that it is far easier and more effective to learn from another than it is to learn from a book. I value mentors, friends and mentees, as it is important to learn from those who walk ahead, to share with those who walk beside, and to pass on to those who follow. Practicing authenticity and engaging in successful mentoring relationships both hold effective and open communication at their core.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
After the Storm
The rain was pouring down when I left my house this morning. The clouds were dark and thick, with no sun to be found as I made my way into downtown to take my friend out for her birthday breakfast. Other than the fact that I don’t like driving in the rain, I didn’t mind the rain because we don’t get a whole lot of rainy days here in sunny Colorado, and everyone knows that this dry fire-magnet state desperately needs the moisture.
At one point, as my friend and I were gnoshing on some out of this world upside down pineapple pancakes, I looked out the window beside me only to be surprised by the sun shining in on me, surrounded by clear blue skies. By the look of this sky, one would never have known the storms were raging just an hour earlier.
As I was driving home underneath the newly blue sky, the pavement was still wet from the rain and looking particularly dark, a rich contrast to the deep green grass beside it. The blossoming flowers, still showcasing tiny drops of rain on their petals, seemed to be a deeper shade of magenta.
The budding trees appeared to be more alive. It was a stunningly beautiful sight to be seen and I felt so lucky to be there to appreciate it. (the picture to the right is from a different day last spring, when the sun emerged even as the rain was ending.)
And that’s when it hit me. I don’t particularly like to be caught in the middle of life’s storms. When I find myself in the midst of a raging storm, I often wonder if and when it will ever end. In my anxst, I find myself wishing for my circumstances to change. I long for the rain to stop and the sun to re-emerge. And when it does, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. Like the trees that look a little brighter and the grass a deeper shade of green, life takes on new meaning, deeper meaning after a storm.
Not that I want to invite storms into my life, but I’m pretty sure that if my life were always sunny, I’d have far less appreciation for the sun when it does shine. If the skies were always blue, I’d never know the beautiful contrast of the wet green grass against that deep blue sky or the pavement donning a darker shade of black, or the contrast of the beautiful deep magenta flowers set against the shiny green budding leaves. So, I guess that’s all to say that in some strange way, I’m thankful for the storms just as I’m thankful for when they come to end, because life somehow seems a little richer after they’ve passed.
At one point, as my friend and I were gnoshing on some out of this world upside down pineapple pancakes, I looked out the window beside me only to be surprised by the sun shining in on me, surrounded by clear blue skies. By the look of this sky, one would never have known the storms were raging just an hour earlier.
As I was driving home underneath the newly blue sky, the pavement was still wet from the rain and looking particularly dark, a rich contrast to the deep green grass beside it. The blossoming flowers, still showcasing tiny drops of rain on their petals, seemed to be a deeper shade of magenta.
The budding trees appeared to be more alive. It was a stunningly beautiful sight to be seen and I felt so lucky to be there to appreciate it. (the picture to the right is from a different day last spring, when the sun emerged even as the rain was ending.) And that’s when it hit me. I don’t particularly like to be caught in the middle of life’s storms. When I find myself in the midst of a raging storm, I often wonder if and when it will ever end. In my anxst, I find myself wishing for my circumstances to change. I long for the rain to stop and the sun to re-emerge. And when it does, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. Like the trees that look a little brighter and the grass a deeper shade of green, life takes on new meaning, deeper meaning after a storm.
Not that I want to invite storms into my life, but I’m pretty sure that if my life were always sunny, I’d have far less appreciation for the sun when it does shine. If the skies were always blue, I’d never know the beautiful contrast of the wet green grass against that deep blue sky or the pavement donning a darker shade of black, or the contrast of the beautiful deep magenta flowers set against the shiny green budding leaves. So, I guess that’s all to say that in some strange way, I’m thankful for the storms just as I’m thankful for when they come to end, because life somehow seems a little richer after they’ve passed.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
And the Diagnosis is...Momnesia!
I’ve managed to set off my smoke alarm not once, but twice in 2 days. And one of those times I nearly burned down the house…again! As one who has prided herself in NOT living up to the blonde stereotype and who has always had a stellar memory and ability to multi-task, I am freaking out just a little bit. Why? Because I’ve developed a serious case of Momnesia, which according to my definition, involves utter loss of the ability to remember anything that’s not written down and right in front of oneself and severe impairment to ones multi-tasking abilities. Symptoms include but are not limited to, missing scheduled meetings, starting tasks and then forgetting you started them (hence the smoke alarm situation), performing tasks with severe absent-mindedness, leaving your house without a jacket when it’s snowing out, and thinking you sent an email when really you just thought about sending said email. If you exhibit 3 or more of these symptoms, it is fair to say that you meet the criteria for the diagnosis of Momnesia. Seeing that I now exhibit all 5 symptoms on a regular basis, I’m offering myself up as the poster child for Momnesia.
Some call it pregnancy brain and I’ve even read articles that show evidence that an actual change in the brain does occur during pregnancy. How could it not with all of those crazy hormones laying siege on a woman’s body? But what does science have to say about the pregnancy brain that just keeps on giving even after that little bundle of joy is born? I like to chalk it up to the fact that I have so much more to remember now that I am responsible for a little being who is entirely dependent on me to keep him alive. It’s as though I’m suddenly trying to cram 3x the amount of information in my brain than I was in the time of B.B. (Before Ben). I like to think that I am more spacey and forgetful of tasks because I care so much about my little guy and my attention is fixed on him and his needs. At least that would explain why I got so pre-occupied with the mini photo-shoot of my cute little man that I forget about the sugar water I had boiling on the stove in preparation to candy some almonds. That is until my smoke alarm started calling out, “fire, fire, fire” and I saw smoke billowing from the kitchen. Ooops. And that wasn’t even the one that almost burned the house down!
It could be pretty depressing to think about spending the rest of my life with Momnesia. But I’ve decided that instead of fighting it, I’m gonna try rolling with it. This may mean letting go of some of my pride, admitting that my husband might actually remember a conversation better than me now, and reducing some of the expectations that I have for myself. And while safety is obviously of utmost importance and I really need to work on turning on the right burner and remembering when I’ve started something on the stove, I also need to show myself a little grace. After all, I have taken on an enormously important new role, one that comes with oodles to learn and remember, but one I cherish, that of being a mom. So, there Momnesia, you’re not going to get the best of me because I’m armed with grace for myself, a sense of humor, and a mighty good smoke alarm!
Monday, April 4, 2011
Milemarkers and Memories
Whoa, it's been a while. And that's definitely not for lack of happenings or things to write about, but rather I simply have been enjoying the moments too much to stop and write about them. Three weeks ago, I reached by biggest post-partum goal, to run a half-marathon (13.1 miles) by 9 months post-partum. 
And I did it, albeit very slowly, I did it. What's even more exciting is how much I enjoyed it, every step of it. In my ripe ole age of 36, I have come to realize that sometimes it's ok to let go of "time goals," to trade in "pushing myself to the absolute limit" for "a highly enjoyable jaunt." It's fun for me to observe my intensity level shift a bit (or a lot of bits) when it comes to races, especially this one. This was probably the first race I've ever run that I wasn't honed in on a time goal and I really wasn't even aware of the thousands of other people running beside me. I was in my zone and it felt as though there was nothing but me, my music, the beautiful canyon walls rising up on either side of me, and my thoughts.
Around mile 3, I found my thoughts drifting back to the last time I ran through this canyon, four years ago. Tom and I were dating at the time and we ran this race together with some friends. As I meandered through the canyon this time, passing milemarker after milemarker, I found myself with a smile on my face as I remembered various "milemarkers" that our relationship has hit along the way. It was as though I could actually feel the sun on my face as Tom and I sat in Telluride sipping coffee on our Engagement Trip. And I so clearly remember joking with each other about moving to the hip and hoppin' (read sarcasm) town of Naturita as we drove through it on our way to Moab. And it seems like just yesterday that I felt the nervous anticipation bubbling up in me as we hiked up to Delicate Arch by moonlight, suspecting a proposal might be just moments away. This quickly replaced by the ecstatic joy I felt as Tom got down on one knee beneath the arch, the moonlight our only witness, and asked me to spend the rest of my life with him as his wife. Of course, I said yes. I could not wait to marry him and see where this journey would go. And so the miles continued to fly by as I reminisced about our wedding day and honeymoon...mile 6, mile 7, mile 8. This was the happiest running I'd ever experienced!
Some people say that life is like a run, with uphills and downhills, moments where you feel light and free and overall incredible, and other moments when your legs feel like lead and you have to struggle to keep your pace. I'd dare say that marriage can be a little like that too. There are those seasons when the course is flat and easy, when communication feels natural and you're on the same page. And there are those seasons when the road takes a turn uphill, like mile 11 of this course and you have to remember your goal, dig deep, lean into that hill and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I liken that to when the furnace breaks, the car breaks, and you have to go to the ER, oh and you are evacuated from your home for carbon monoxide...all in one week! Or when we're both stressed and feeling overwhelmed by the to-do list, on the verge of getting sick, and don't feel like we have a whole lot to give to each other. Or when we're reacting to each other rather than responding, or blaming rather than listening. We've had those moments in our marriage too, when we've really had to work to connect and choose to love each other even when it's felt hard. But thankfully, similar to this race, those moments have been far outnumbered by the ones that feel deeply satisfying and rewarding.
As I reached the top of the hill and turned the corner past mile marker 12, all I could think about was how far we've come, having added a little mini-meuz to the mix and hoping for more.
My thoughts drifted back to yesterday when the three of us hiked up to Delicate Arch for the first time since we got engaged up there. We talked about the overwhelming joy we felt being back up there, this time with our son. We were mesmerized by Ben's fascination with playing in the red dirt and thrilled to watch his curiosity let loose.
By this point in the race, I found myself in the home stretch, less than a half mile to go. I could taste the finish and all I could think about was getting to hug my two favorite guys, waiting at the end. And that's when I spotted them, Tom waving Ben's hand and yelling, "Go Mommy!" That's when it happened, the flood gates could hold them back no more, tears started streaming down my face uncontrollably as I crossed that finish line. And the tears weren't about the fact that I ran some 13.1 miles, or completed another race, no they were about so much more than that. The tears were for what the race symbolized, the milestones and memories of an incredible journey thus far. I hope for many many more miles on the journey and I am confident that the work will be so worth the reward.
And I did it, albeit very slowly, I did it. What's even more exciting is how much I enjoyed it, every step of it. In my ripe ole age of 36, I have come to realize that sometimes it's ok to let go of "time goals," to trade in "pushing myself to the absolute limit" for "a highly enjoyable jaunt." It's fun for me to observe my intensity level shift a bit (or a lot of bits) when it comes to races, especially this one. This was probably the first race I've ever run that I wasn't honed in on a time goal and I really wasn't even aware of the thousands of other people running beside me. I was in my zone and it felt as though there was nothing but me, my music, the beautiful canyon walls rising up on either side of me, and my thoughts. Around mile 3, I found my thoughts drifting back to the last time I ran through this canyon, four years ago. Tom and I were dating at the time and we ran this race together with some friends. As I meandered through the canyon this time, passing milemarker after milemarker, I found myself with a smile on my face as I remembered various "milemarkers" that our relationship has hit along the way. It was as though I could actually feel the sun on my face as Tom and I sat in Telluride sipping coffee on our Engagement Trip. And I so clearly remember joking with each other about moving to the hip and hoppin' (read sarcasm) town of Naturita as we drove through it on our way to Moab. And it seems like just yesterday that I felt the nervous anticipation bubbling up in me as we hiked up to Delicate Arch by moonlight, suspecting a proposal might be just moments away. This quickly replaced by the ecstatic joy I felt as Tom got down on one knee beneath the arch, the moonlight our only witness, and asked me to spend the rest of my life with him as his wife. Of course, I said yes. I could not wait to marry him and see where this journey would go. And so the miles continued to fly by as I reminisced about our wedding day and honeymoon...mile 6, mile 7, mile 8. This was the happiest running I'd ever experienced!
Some people say that life is like a run, with uphills and downhills, moments where you feel light and free and overall incredible, and other moments when your legs feel like lead and you have to struggle to keep your pace. I'd dare say that marriage can be a little like that too. There are those seasons when the course is flat and easy, when communication feels natural and you're on the same page. And there are those seasons when the road takes a turn uphill, like mile 11 of this course and you have to remember your goal, dig deep, lean into that hill and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I liken that to when the furnace breaks, the car breaks, and you have to go to the ER, oh and you are evacuated from your home for carbon monoxide...all in one week! Or when we're both stressed and feeling overwhelmed by the to-do list, on the verge of getting sick, and don't feel like we have a whole lot to give to each other. Or when we're reacting to each other rather than responding, or blaming rather than listening. We've had those moments in our marriage too, when we've really had to work to connect and choose to love each other even when it's felt hard. But thankfully, similar to this race, those moments have been far outnumbered by the ones that feel deeply satisfying and rewarding.
As I reached the top of the hill and turned the corner past mile marker 12, all I could think about was how far we've come, having added a little mini-meuz to the mix and hoping for more.
My thoughts drifted back to yesterday when the three of us hiked up to Delicate Arch for the first time since we got engaged up there. We talked about the overwhelming joy we felt being back up there, this time with our son. We were mesmerized by Ben's fascination with playing in the red dirt and thrilled to watch his curiosity let loose. By this point in the race, I found myself in the home stretch, less than a half mile to go. I could taste the finish and all I could think about was getting to hug my two favorite guys, waiting at the end. And that's when I spotted them, Tom waving Ben's hand and yelling, "Go Mommy!" That's when it happened, the flood gates could hold them back no more, tears started streaming down my face uncontrollably as I crossed that finish line. And the tears weren't about the fact that I ran some 13.1 miles, or completed another race, no they were about so much more than that. The tears were for what the race symbolized, the milestones and memories of an incredible journey thus far. I hope for many many more miles on the journey and I am confident that the work will be so worth the reward.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Reminiscence
At Stroller Strides on Wednesday, our instructor announced that a local photographer, Sara Lazio of Lazio Images, is holding a contest, in which she's asking people to tell their love story. The winner gets a free couples photo shoot, a way to help rekindle the romance! If you look at her page, you'll see she is super talented, and well, I can count on one hand the number of pictures we have of Tom and I since Ben was born. So, I decided to write up our little love story and enter the contest. It was fun to put the laundry and baby-food making on hold to reminisce a bit about how we fell in love and I thought I'd share it here. Here's how it went:
I met my husband, Tom, online. I NEVER EVER thought that would be my story, but it is and I thank God everyday that it is. I will never forget when I read Tom’s online profile and thought to myself, ‘we have so much in common, a love for the outdoors, soccer, running, red wine, music, and more. If this guy is as amazing in person as he is on paper (or cyber-paper!) then I have something to be excited about.’ Turned out he was everything that he claimed in his profile and so much more. He says he had the same thoughts when he looked at my profile and then met me. We talked for hours on our first date, as we sat out on the roof-top deck of the Funky Buddha that sunny, warm September evening. The connection, chemistry, and love was there from the beginning and has just deepened ever since. For our second date, we drove outside of Nederland to go hiking. 
When we pulled up to the parking lot, it was snowing like crazy. We took one look at each other and said, “What do we want to do?” And then we simultaneously shrugged our shoulders and said, “Let’s go!” And as a result, we had an incredible adventure that day! A little over a year later we were standing in front of each other, promising to love each other through all circumstances, from the peaks to the valleys, when life is sunny like our first date and stormy like our second. And we committed that no matter the weather life brings, we will continue to say, “Let’s go and let’s go together.” So, here we are nearly 4 years later with a little 8 month old bundle of boy! While our son is the most amazing gift, it’s been a journey to navigate this new dynamic in our family and figure out how to keep each other as a priority amidst the sleepless nights and constant talk of poop! There have of course, been bumps along the way, but there is no one else I’d rather be on this journey with! So, as we head into this next season, Tom & Melissa + kids, no matter the weather, we continue to say, “Let’s go!”
And the timing is fun too, as next weekend we head to Moab for my half marathon. We can't wait to take Ben on the hike up to Delicate Arch, where Tom proposed to me by moonlight! Remembering is a good, good thing!
I met my husband, Tom, online. I NEVER EVER thought that would be my story, but it is and I thank God everyday that it is. I will never forget when I read Tom’s online profile and thought to myself, ‘we have so much in common, a love for the outdoors, soccer, running, red wine, music, and more. If this guy is as amazing in person as he is on paper (or cyber-paper!) then I have something to be excited about.’ Turned out he was everything that he claimed in his profile and so much more. He says he had the same thoughts when he looked at my profile and then met me. We talked for hours on our first date, as we sat out on the roof-top deck of the Funky Buddha that sunny, warm September evening. The connection, chemistry, and love was there from the beginning and has just deepened ever since. For our second date, we drove outside of Nederland to go hiking. 
When we pulled up to the parking lot, it was snowing like crazy. We took one look at each other and said, “What do we want to do?” And then we simultaneously shrugged our shoulders and said, “Let’s go!” And as a result, we had an incredible adventure that day! A little over a year later we were standing in front of each other, promising to love each other through all circumstances, from the peaks to the valleys, when life is sunny like our first date and stormy like our second. And we committed that no matter the weather life brings, we will continue to say, “Let’s go and let’s go together.” So, here we are nearly 4 years later with a little 8 month old bundle of boy! While our son is the most amazing gift, it’s been a journey to navigate this new dynamic in our family and figure out how to keep each other as a priority amidst the sleepless nights and constant talk of poop! There have of course, been bumps along the way, but there is no one else I’d rather be on this journey with! So, as we head into this next season, Tom & Melissa + kids, no matter the weather, we continue to say, “Let’s go!”
And the timing is fun too, as next weekend we head to Moab for my half marathon. We can't wait to take Ben on the hike up to Delicate Arch, where Tom proposed to me by moonlight! Remembering is a good, good thing!
Monday, March 7, 2011
Hope
One month ago today, my dear friend (see previous post entitled, It Takes A Village) gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. I had the privilege of not only being present for the entire labor and delivery, but also that of coaching her through it alongside her doula. Her husband, exhausted and recovering from his chemo treatment, slept through most of the labor, but was thankfully able to be in the room and awake for the most important moments.
Being present in that delivery room with my friend through the darkness of the night, looking her in the eyes (which as it turns out are hazel, though I always thought they were brown!), helping her to breathe, and to navigate each contraction one at a time, I was reminded that often times the invitations that require the most risk and responsibility are indeed the ones that offer the most reward. Being there alongside my friend in labor, was one of the hardest things I've ever done, right up there with my own 45 hour labor and delivery. It gave me a new and profound admiration for my husband, who so wonderfully supported me through the birth of my son. I found it excruciatingly difficult to watch someone I care about experience such intense pain. I wanted to take the pain for my friend, I wanted to make it better, I wanted to make it go faster. But I knew that I couldn't do any of those things for her, which is a rather helpless feeling. I knew that all I could really do was simply be there with her in it. And I think that often times, that's the best gift we can offer people, to just to be there, to sit in it with them, to be a witness to both their pain and their triumph.
For some reason, the truth mentioned above didn't feel so clear to me on my way to the hospital that night at 12:45 am. I'm not going to lie, somewhere in the course of my drive, I had a moment of panic. My mind was flooded with doubt and questions, What if I don't say the right things? What if I do something that makes her mad? What if I just don't know what to do at all? What if something happens that ruins our friendship? This, not to mention the daunting responsibility I felt just playing this role, the role meant to be played by her husband. If it were me in the situation, I'm pretty sure I'd feel some sense of anger and sadness that I had to stare into the eyes of my friend when really, nothing could replace the support of my husband.
That's when I remembered, in the midst of my panic, that I had to let all of these fears go, that this wasn't at all about me, but about my dear friend. It was about my friend, who was about to go through one of the most challenging things a woman can experience, all the while with the icky reality tucked into the back of her mind that her husband is sick. I didn't need to worry about saying or doing the right things, I just needed to show up. I needed to be there. I needed to look her in the eye during the climax of her pain and breathe with her, and remind her that she can do this, that she is doing this, that her body is working beautifully, ushering her little girl into this world. And I did. And she did. She did it. She, ever so gracefully, found ways to focus on the good, relax her body, and breathe her way through the labor.
After a long, dark night, during the dawn of a new day, I got to witness what I consider to be a most miraculous event, a beautiful new life entering this world. And at the sound of that very first tiny cry, that hospital room was filled with life...and the fragrance of hope, hope for her baby girl's future, hope for the health of her husband, hope for their family. And this beautiful little girl, who is a month old today, will forever embody the reminder for us to 'Hope,' as that is her middle name.
Being present in that delivery room with my friend through the darkness of the night, looking her in the eyes (which as it turns out are hazel, though I always thought they were brown!), helping her to breathe, and to navigate each contraction one at a time, I was reminded that often times the invitations that require the most risk and responsibility are indeed the ones that offer the most reward. Being there alongside my friend in labor, was one of the hardest things I've ever done, right up there with my own 45 hour labor and delivery. It gave me a new and profound admiration for my husband, who so wonderfully supported me through the birth of my son. I found it excruciatingly difficult to watch someone I care about experience such intense pain. I wanted to take the pain for my friend, I wanted to make it better, I wanted to make it go faster. But I knew that I couldn't do any of those things for her, which is a rather helpless feeling. I knew that all I could really do was simply be there with her in it. And I think that often times, that's the best gift we can offer people, to just to be there, to sit in it with them, to be a witness to both their pain and their triumph.
For some reason, the truth mentioned above didn't feel so clear to me on my way to the hospital that night at 12:45 am. I'm not going to lie, somewhere in the course of my drive, I had a moment of panic. My mind was flooded with doubt and questions, What if I don't say the right things? What if I do something that makes her mad? What if I just don't know what to do at all? What if something happens that ruins our friendship? This, not to mention the daunting responsibility I felt just playing this role, the role meant to be played by her husband. If it were me in the situation, I'm pretty sure I'd feel some sense of anger and sadness that I had to stare into the eyes of my friend when really, nothing could replace the support of my husband.
That's when I remembered, in the midst of my panic, that I had to let all of these fears go, that this wasn't at all about me, but about my dear friend. It was about my friend, who was about to go through one of the most challenging things a woman can experience, all the while with the icky reality tucked into the back of her mind that her husband is sick. I didn't need to worry about saying or doing the right things, I just needed to show up. I needed to be there. I needed to look her in the eye during the climax of her pain and breathe with her, and remind her that she can do this, that she is doing this, that her body is working beautifully, ushering her little girl into this world. And I did. And she did. She did it. She, ever so gracefully, found ways to focus on the good, relax her body, and breathe her way through the labor.
After a long, dark night, during the dawn of a new day, I got to witness what I consider to be a most miraculous event, a beautiful new life entering this world. And at the sound of that very first tiny cry, that hospital room was filled with life...and the fragrance of hope, hope for her baby girl's future, hope for the health of her husband, hope for their family. And this beautiful little girl, who is a month old today, will forever embody the reminder for us to 'Hope,' as that is her middle name.
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