Of the offense and the rebuke

We have this Bible verse in play lately:

15But if thy brother shall offend against thee, go, and rebuke him between thee and him alone. If he shall hear thee, thou shalt gain thy brother.

It seems  that I have this penchant for pissing off people in some way or another in the past many months. I've either said or done something that has offended someone somewhere. It was not intentional, but it stinks knowing you've upset someone - especially a friend. I am generally not a people pleaser, so it's not related to that aspect of things. Nor am I just guns blazing give no craps who gets upset with me either. 

But I've long been aware that I am at risk for hurting someone's feelings or offending their sensibilities. I do try to keep it in check, but sometimes, it happens anyway. And most of the time, my friends know they can just tell me that I've done as much and we can work through the situation. However, there are times someone who doesn't know me that well (or maybe at all) finds something I've said or done offending to them, and they won't say anything. I can't say if it's a fear of causing an uproar, an attempt to remain civil/polite, or they don't have the fortitude and courage to just confront me about the situation. 

The problem becomes then that they're harboring a resentment toward me, and I'm clueless to it. I can't own my mistake and attempt to rectify it if that person doesn't own their upset with me and tell me it happened. I have a relative who hated me for years based on the word of their mother, who was unhappy with me. Neither addressed their grievance directly with me, and still have not. Those 2 people absolutely do own their problem with me until they make it my problem. I can't fix it without their involvement. I don't know if they are still upset with me or not, and it's been about 23 years since it all started. When they decide to talk to me about it, we can do something. But until they do, it is still their ball bouncing in their court. 

Most recently, I posted something on Facebook, and told of someone else's situation, and a reflection of things. It was an emotionally charged thing in my realm. However this other person took it as making their situation about me. Instead of directly confronting me, there was a vaguebook post made about it, and the ire demonstrated there. I privately apologized, explaining that I would not ever seek to usurp their situation as my own. This person said they'd been bothered by my relating their story on previous occasions and asked that I not do that anymore. 

Oh good gravy, if this person had just told me the FIRST time they were uncomfortable with me telling of their story, I would have never done it again. Instead, this person harbored resentment and lashed out about it. Well, what was already a charged thing for me became more so because the hurt I thought I'd caused originally was no where near what the cause of hurt actually was. Now we've got other things at play. In addition to remorse for offending someone, there's now annoyance because they opted not to address it immediately and privately, ignored me completely when I attempted to make contact along the way which left me believing that they had something else going on, and then it blew up loudly. What would have only been briefly awkward, may be such permanently now.  

So, if you have a grievance, there really is merit to addressing it in a timely manner, and directly to the person who has committed it upon you. If you need moral support, then utilize it as needed. But don't let it fester and brew for so long that it becomes this severing explosion. And if anyone truly knows me, then they surely know they can come to me to express a problem exists. I'm not such a hardass that I can't see where I have made a mistake, and I'm not so callous that I can't or won't attempt to make amends. And even if we aren't good friends, that still stands. My skin is not so thin that someone saying I've done something to upset them is going to cause me to behave badly. Yes, I might be upset at first and my kneejerk reaction may not be initially what either of us expect. But I am willing and capable of working through my reactions, sorting through where the offended is coming from with their problem with me, and attempting to make amends or politely parting ways as the situation merits. 

Just don't sit there and be offended and tell everyone else about it, BUT the person who needs to hear it first and foremost.

Pastors, your Mother's Day stuff is nice and all buuut....

I have friends who skip church for Mother's Day because of you.
After being told she's less of a woman by people who were supposed to be on her side, your decision to have mothers stand and be honored or prayed over by the congregation has driven her decision. Even 50 some-odd years later, my father still grieves the loss of a child, and then the other loss 30ish years ago. My FATHER, a man, who is supposed to apparently be stoic and push aside *his* grief. My own husband is having a difficult time of it himself. My best friend's grandmother had a loss in the 60s, and the doctor was anything but compassionate toward her. She told him to never say that crap again and he was not to return to her room. He returned the next day with more of the same junk, and she threw a bar of soap at his head. She is 50+ years out from that loss, it still burns with an indescribable ache, and she was one of the ones who suffered in silence all these years. Women like her are why I have my big mouth and why I refuse to keep it shut.

So, pastors, get creative. Get compassionate. Get your congregation involved. Get them talking. Get them to understand the pain. Get them to show love to the women with empty arms, even if they also have full ones.

I will keep it simple and share these links with you, because they say it so much better than I could or would. 

http://www.messymiddle.com/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/
http://www.messymiddle.com/Beyond-the-surface-of-mothering

I am NOT saying skip the celebrating of mothers. I am saying shift a couple gears and rework it. I'm saying that while you're celebrating mothers in May and fathers in June, that you plan for October to honor the reason parents grieve too. I'm saying you've got noble intentions, and there is room to make it better. Believe me, word will get out that you do something awesome for the moms-of-a-different-sort, and you will build your community and have a group of women who are going to wrap their arms around newly-grieving families so that they do not suffer in silence like my friend's grandmother and countless other women, or like my father and husband.

Wheelbarrows are not always fun

Several years ago, a visiting priest gave a homily that stuck with me.
He told of his childhood visits to see the circus, and the high wire act in it. He told of the guy who pushed his teammate across the high wire in a wheelbarrow. He said he was impressed with the amount of trust the guy in the wheelbarrow had in his teammate, because you can not be both in the wheelbarrow AND pushing it.
We are supposed to trust God to lead us and direct our path. Outside of the recent miscarriage, we've had another big issue that has been brewing for a while, and it's reaching a tipping point and it too can alter the course of our journey into a different direction completely. It has been a huge challenge for me to stay in the wheelbarrow. I admit to having control issues. I want to know what is going on, how it is happening, etc. It's the Type A side of me. In reality, I live in the Type B side, but the Type A side has strong influence. So, this tumultuous part of life is wearing on me, and testing my mettle and my faith. I am aware that I have a part in things, and decisions I make and action I take factor in to the results. But my faith tells me that God is in control and our role in our own lives is smaller than we would like to think it is. But there are also other people involved in making decisions about this situation and that is scaring me to no end. This other pile of stuff I'm dealing with is wearing on me, and I am prone to feeling like I just want to throw my hands up and walk away from it all and start over somewhere else.
And then, my husband changed jobs this week, leaving the company after 3 years, to take a lower paying job through the electrical apprenticeship program. It's a scary proposition and change always upsets my apple cart. But my husband's soul and being are lighter for not having to face an environment at work that played by rules he does not follow, and where the behavior of a handful of people make the existence there difficult at best. He decided that long term, this path was going to provide him more opportunity and afford him certifications and credentials that he would not be able to attain without formal training.
Once more, I am being asked, ... no, told, to get my butt in the wheelbarrow, and hang on tight. Wheelbarrows can sometimes be pretty damn exhausting. It adds to the exhaustion on a mental, emotional, and spiritual level. So, hang on tight I will. The ride is a bit bumpy.

Uncertainty, Hope, and Waiting

This is a somewhat graphic, quite long, and emotionally charged post. 

It was drafted as I traveled this journey over the course of several days. I am baring my soul in this post, and this is part of how I work to heal. My pain is not unlike almost every other woman's in the world. There are millions suffering in silence. I refuse to be one of them. I will use my big mouth to help others. The world needs to know how this affects those around them, and that certain comments are best left completely unsaid. Be respectful in your comments, and if you have a point of disagreement, choose your words carefully.   

              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

All I am able to do at this point is pray, hope, and wait. And repeat.

As I type this while lying down, I am completely uncertain. I think my brain knows more than my heart wants to admit. And I hate that this is where I am.

I am on doctor's orders for rest, and a follow up with my regular doctor in a few days. I am home from the emergency room because of spotting. I thought it was just because I overdid it on Sunday after church, shopping with 2 kids in tow while wearing wedge heeled shoes. Seeing it when I went to use the bathroom made me gasp loudly, and Devildog came to check on me. It was brown and it subsided after several hours of rest and plenty of water. Spotting is considered a normal occurrence in this situation, and as long as it's not red, and cramping is not involved, it could just be a slight swish in the cycle. And then today, it resumed, increased, and at some moments blood-tinged. Plus there has been some cramping that feels like dull pressure. I was advised to go to the E.R. because all diagnostic tools were there, and if this was an ectopic pregnancy, I would need to be there anyway. It's not ectopic. But I didn't see a heartbeat in the ultrasound. I don't have a trained eye, but having had 5 children before, I know what to look for and where. To the best of my ability, I was unable to see what I'd hoped to see. Every ultrasound tech is quick to point out fetal heart rate. There was no such point of conversation today. That doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just means my fears were neither confirmed or denied. But I still didn't *see* a heartbeat. According to what is known as LMP dates, I should be 9 weeks 4 days. According to charted details, that's farther ahead than my potential actual dates. My HCg beta levels are measuring 7-8 weeks. But even this early, a fetal heartbeat can be detected. Sadly, I am only clinging to a thread of hope here. And as the pressure has increased the last few minutes while typing this, I'm losing my grip on even that.

I'm fairly attuned to my body, and when something isn't right, I can usually tell. I haven't been feeling the same way this pregnancy as the others. People ask how I'm doing, and I feel normal. I don't feel exhausted, nauseated, or have sore boobs. I was still nursing when I got pregnant, and I weaned shortly after discovering that I was pregnant because the vasospasms were really problematic for me. Between the hormonal dump of that, and the hormonal surges of pregnancy, I figured it was just balancing itself out. But it was always something in the back of my mind that felt different. I know every pregnancy and baby is different. So I just chalked it up to being different.

This was something that we did not look for in our journey, but having it happen is not a bad thing. We were growing excited about this new baby, and joking about how to reveal the pregnancy, and deciding when to do so. My sister-in-law is due in a few months with their first, and some of my hesitation was a worry about stealing some of her thunder. Other issues are the opinions of others who differ from ours about this, and have said things to us in the past about our family size. I opted to wait because I did not want those opinions to spill over in conversation in earshot of my 13 year old daughter while traveling with relatives to and from camp. She doesn't need to hear that commentary, nor does she deserve it. She is one of my children, and criticizing our family in front of her, means she too is being criticized. I needed to spare her that nonsense. Right now, I am kind of regretting the decision to wait to share the news, only because I want so desperately to have support and prayers from those who know us. Right now, only select friends who we trust and who we know will not make backhanded comments have been told that we are pregnant. Some people we do trust still don't know because we haven't gotten around to it. So if you didn't know, please don't take it personally.

And if this pregnancy does end in loss, do us and every other parent who has lost a child a huge ass favor. Shut up. Don't say a word about "at least....", better places, better off, you have enough kids, you're young, you can try again, God has plans, etc. Don't. Just do.not.do.it.ever.  Seriously. I don't care that you think things will be better off this way. I don't care that you think I have enough kids. I don't care. I don't want to know your opinion. All you have to do is say "I'm sorry. That really sucks." and leave it at that. That is a million times better than some of the other stupid crap well-meaning people say. It does not help assuage the pain. It hurts. It jabs the knife deeper and twists the blade. So shut up. Never say those things to me, or any of the others you know who have had a loss, are experiencing a loss, or will experience a loss in the future. If you say it to me, you are seriously at risk for having a new butthole drafted for you.
(July 27, 2015 - 5pm)
                   - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Here it is, a couple hours later, and the spotting has become red. I am fairly certain that I am in the early stage of losing this pregnancy to a loss. And I am in tears. I want to go cry in my husband's arms but he's asleep, and I don't want to wake him. He would hold me, and let me cry. But I'm on the couch for now. I will probably go cry with him later. Right now, I want to let him rest. He's been dealing with a lot outside of home and he's exhausted. I will call on him when I need the extra support. For now, I am chatting with friends online and getting support that way. He too, will mourn his own way, and we will walk this leg of this journey together. In the meantime, I retrieved the old chuckpad I swiped from the hospital when I gave birth to my eldest and put that under me on the couch. This thing has seen 5 kids' fourth trimesters, potty training, sick nights of pukey kids, and a few hefty visits from Aunt Flo. Somehow there is a measure of comfort in its presence beneath me. (7 pm)
            - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
And an hour and change later, I got up to pee, the bleeding has increased and clotty tissue has started releasing.  I crawled in bed with my husband, woke him up with my crying, and he did all he could do. He held me as I cried. An incredibly amazing friend took the kids so we could go to the ER and is keeping the 2 youngest kids overnight to allow us uninterrupted time and space. She just left with a bag of clothes for them, and to drop off a jar and saline solution. She is sadly all too familiar with this experience. I want to help my husband in his mourning, but I don't even know what I'm going to do to get through this, much less help him. I am regretting that I didn't ask for a printed picture of the ultrasound. I'm not even sure I would have been granted one.
And another wave of abdominal pressure is starting to appear. I don't want to go pee even though my bladder feels full. I would rather not be in this situation. (8:40pm)
      - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
As the night has progressed, my butt was growing sore from 2 days of couch surfing. I got up to clean my tub around 10:30 or 11. Some of it was because I needed to just DO something instead of laying on the couch waiting with dread. It was also that I'd rather not reach into the toilet to reclaim my child's remains. I've been peeing in the tub and washing it out instead. I was using the hall bathroom earlier, but my tub has this divot where water pools in it. I decided that this one was going to enable me to catch anything I don't want going down the drain. But it was in dire need of cleaning. And especially in this situation there is no dignity in a gross tub. I have decided not to return to the ER unless it becomes emergent. I don't want that experience. I don't want the sterility and cold and strangers. I had called a new OB's office on the way home from the ER and booked an appointment for a follow up check. At that earlier hour, I was still holding hope for viability. That appointment will be altogether different now. As I started scrubbing the tub, the tears began to flow, and my body heavy with the sobs. Here I was on a perfunctory level, just cleaning my tub. In reality, I was preparing the place where my child's person would land for me to collect. In essence, it felt like I was preparing a coffin of sorts. My husband found me several minutes later, half scrubbing, half sobbing and unintentionally startled me. He listened to my lamentations of how unfair it was that people fight and struggle to get pregnant and can't, yet I seem to get pregnant just looking at him sideways. Or people who harm their children get to keep them, and people who would make amazing parents have empty arms. I later apologized in advance to him for any unexplained emotional outbursts or upsets. They are bound to happen. The cramping is more like a dull pressure and ache at this point, and I feel the bleeding. I occasionally get up to use the bathroom or check things. My husband is worried about me. I know this is weighing on him, and his primary concern at the moment is me, how I'm doing, and how I'm handling this. But I know his heart is breaking too.
I got a text from a best friend checking on me. Then another from the best friend keeping the kids for me. I laid out the tub story for her. This loss of mine is churning up deep pain for her own 9 losses. I am glad for her support, but heartbroken for her that I am part of a painful experience for her. She said she was knitting a hat and a blanket. She is always knitting. Last month when I'd told her I was pregnant, she'd found a heart lace blanket pattern to make for this baby. One of the things in her projects includes finishing projects for others who can't complete them. I thought when she said she was knitting, that it was for one of those things. I said "well I suppose this helps shrink your queue." She stunned me silent with "they're miniatures". I don't even have to ask. (July 28, 2015 - 12:30 am)
           - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After finally crawling into bed at 2am, I drifted off to sleep, albeit lightly. My husband's bi-pap machine often disrupts my sleep, but it's nothing like his snoring. He and our oldest left for work at 5:45, and I crawled back in bed with my laptop and a bowl of cereal to try to get something done but the printer wasn't working. I eventually tired again and fell asleep for a few hours. I have been getting texts, and messages on facebook checking on me. That comforts me, and I am thankful for this circle of support around me, virtual and real. I can not imagine doing this unsupported in the physical or the emotional aspects. In my reflections and hindsight, I suspected that the feeling normal was not normal, and the sixth sense I have, I knew before I knew. I also had a weird loss of hair last week when that much hair loss only happens postpartum. At the time, I chalked it up to stress from another big life storm brewing outside of this pregnancy. I now suspect that was when this baby actually died, and my body has finally responded to the cessation of life within my womb many days later.  (11:00 am)
       - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I had to go register my girls for school, and that was an exercise in fortitude on a day I didn't want to face people. In the activity of getting myself ready to leave, I began crying again, lamenting aloud while alone. It took me a while to muster the energy to get back up off the couch and go, but it's mostly completed save a trip tomorrow to collect grade and test reports and take to the new school. That two and a half hours has exhausted me. I'm nauseated, partly due to insufficient food, and partly due to being part of this process. I'm hoping my husband is able to leave work on time. He is always a comforting presence to me, even at those times when I'm upset with him. At this moment, I just want him near me for solace, and to sense his own grief. It might be weird to some, but I can feel his energy, and he needs comfort just as much as I do. (3:45 pm)
     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I've been bedsurfing most of the day. Too much activity is wearing on me. I find the waiting game to be wearisome and am ready for it to finish its course. It's not unlike any other labor where I await it to commence and get annoyed that my body is taking its time like it is. I'm still bleeding, and clots are more frequent. I think I'm starting to see bits of tissue and I feel a bit like a weirdo sifting through this gross stuff in my tub when I go pee. But this is how I am processing this loss, and I need to do it this way. Around 5pm, I found in a Facebook group the midwife who I have the follow up appointment with on Thursday. I asked if I should keep the appointment considering the progress and she said it was my call. I answered her questions with what I know or suspect, and she was very kind. I felt that I was intruding on her mom-duty, and told her deal with mom stuff first. Work later. I know she has a difficult job sometimes, and her family needs her. She would have kept talking to me if that's what I needed. I felt her kids needed her more. I have other support, her kids may not. But I later asked if she could get me a picture from the ultrasound. I wanted to ask for one, but felt that I wouldn't have been able to get one. She told me that she could. As the evening progressed, I dozed off and on, my husband made dinner for me, and sat with me. Then nausea crept in and hung around like a drunk acquaintance, annoying but not enough to get to me. It subsided after I took my allergy med and nixed the post nasal drip that was probably a culprit. I still have the headaches. I think its related to the BP or slacker bun, or both. My husband eventually found me in the bathroom, and asked if I was ok. I find myself wanting to shield him from the imagery of what leaves my body, because I don't know how he would handle it. He tells me it wouldn't bother him. Some of it might be my fear of being considered weird or crazy for sifting through this stuff to find the pieces that do not deserve to flush down the drain. My husband and I crawled into bed around 11pm and he held me, we talked, I cried, he said some amazingly beautiful things, and apologized for making me cry. He's worried about me, and his wish is to take away my pain. I brought up the idea of naming this child, and why, and the names I was considering. I have felt this child was a boy, and have been looking for names that have good meaning. I am careful about the names we give our kids, because the meaning is important to me. (July 29, 2015 - 12:13am)
     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I laid in the bed from the time I woke at 8 till after 10, when a caffeine withdrawal headache and a high-metabolism-starvation dragged me to the kitchen to get breakfast. I felt a hair tickling my arm, and couldn't catch it, so I grabbed my comb, and stood over the trash can, combing, and combing, and combing. I got pissy. I told myself that it was just hair. But it wasn't the hair. It was what the massive hair fallout represented. And then I got angry. My anger was because we hadn't told our parents yet. And instead of sharing exciting news, we will share heartbreaking news instead. I am angry at how we let the reactions of others cause us to hide the last 3 pregnancies, even though we were married and over 18. I am angry that people were doubly robbed of this joy. I am angry that we felt shamed, as if we were still 17 and in high school. I was angry that we have not been granted the same joy and dignity at the news of an impending child that other people receive. I told my husband that we will never hide another pregnancy, should one happen. "We will not hide God's light under a basket." were my exact words. I updated the handful of friends walking with me through this virtually, and my best friend who has my kids - still, 3 days now. And I talked with a friend who is on my team to share the news with her. I only left the house because I needed to collect my daughter's report card and test history to take to her new school, and find remaining pieces of uniforms I needed for the girls. I was up and moving another couple hours. I stopped at the grocery store but forgot the debit card, so I was only able to get some raspberry zinger tea that I needed to steep with the red raspberry leaf tea. Up to that point, things were not progressing much more than the pace already in motion. My plan was to drink the tea to help my uterus do its job. Which by the time I got home, it was starting to do on its own. Kinda like taking the car to the mechanic, oh look, it behaves. My husband called at 4pm to update me on his whereabouts due to work. I came home, steeped tea, chatted with friends to update them. I've been sitting at the table because the thought of laying in the bed or on the couch another day was not where I wanted to be. And in the last 2 hours since getting home, things have started moving faster and getting messier. I don't wish this on anyone. I'm having back labor again, like I did with my 5 previous live births. I've grabbed my rice sock and heated it so I can try to ease the discomfort. TENS unit is another option if I need relief. And my husband is finally home so that I'm not alone. My best friend was about ready to come over here if he wasn't going to be home soon. She really worries, and wants to make sure I am safe. I am forever grateful she is helping us. It is truly a gift. (July 29, 2015 - 6:15pm)
      - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It's been a few hours, and the pressure and discomfort has been in varying waves and extents. I've been back and forth to the tub, changing the pad almost hourly at some points. My husband has gone to bed because he's exhausted (I can see it in his eyes), and he needs to go to work in the morning, barring my needing him. I was instructed to call upon him if I needed him. It's been 4 days, and the wait is wearing on me. The tea helps encourage things along, it just tastes awful. Some of the contractions are gaining intensity. I am hoping for this to complete soon. It's dragging on for days, I want my younger 2 kids home again, and my husband is having a hard time with their absence. I just know I can't get through this with a toddler in the house who is prone to getting into EVERY thing he can. And I need to hug my babies. Like many labors, mom's body often waits till the house is quiet and everyone has left her in peace to progress. I wonder if that is what is happening with me. (11:10 pm)
     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I ended up falling asleep on the couch, and after waking up and crawling into my bed in the morning I wished I'd slept there instead. I was so tired the night before that I was afraid moving to the room would wake me just enough that I'd have a hard time getting back to sleep. I lazed in the bed for a while till hunger dragged me to the kitchen. I asked my husband if he was interested in or able to get off work to come to the follow up appointment. He's been so focused on me that I am not wanting him to be left out of anything if he can be part of it. He can't take away the pain. But he's setting his own aside to help me with mine. And if there is a step in this journey that he can join, I invite him to do so. He couldn't get off work early enough to come, so I told the doctor's office that if they nudged another patient ahead of me, to allow him time to come, I wouldn't have issue with it. The midwife who had already been awesome as it is said she would move my appointment to later so he could join us. My husband left work a little early and was able to be there. While waiting, I started having cramping and it was getting stronger. Then in the exam room they were getting downright unpleasant. I needed my husband to apply counter pressure on my back. Really? Even in a loss, I freaking have back labor? I drew upon the hypnobirthing lessons from my 5th birth to get through it. After answering the nurse's preliminary questions, she left to get the midwife. The midwife came in, introduced herself, told me what the ER records indicated from Monday's visit. The ultrasound measured 6 weeks 3 days, and registered no heartbeat. I was 9 weeks 4 days at that point. I *knew* there was no heartbeat. I should have been told, instead of being allowed to leave the ER with a thread of pointless hope. She said it infuriates her that it happened that way. She then had me get on the exam table so she could see what was going on with me. And as she started, her tone got very subdued and you could tell she was affected by what was happening. The placenta and sac were passing through my cervix, and she was witness to it. She asked if I wanted it sent for genetic testing, and I declined. She carried it like precious cargo, asking if I wanted to see it. "This is what I've been waiting for?" came out of my mouth. I asked for gloves so I could get a closer look. The midwife gingerly set it on a chux pad and began to separate the clots to find the sac. She stopped, realizing that wait...she was leaving me in a bit of a compromised spot, went back to complete the exam and do an ultrasound to check for retained tissue. She gingerly resumed her search and asked me if I wanted her to open the sac to find the baby, telling me that if she did anything to upset me to say stop. She was intrigued by this on an intellectual level as much as I was. But she was reverent and respectful about it. She felt honored that we would indulge her curiosity, and allow her to be part of something so intimate. She had never seen a baby at that early gestation. The earliest she'd seen was 14 weeks, and here she was witnessing a 6 weeker. We were both in awe of it. It may seem gross or weird to some, but I had my husband take pictures. I think it bothered him a bit, but this is how I've been processing it as it happens. I didn't get an ultrasound picture, and I may not be able to get one. If I'd kept the earlier appointment I might have, but then, we might not have been granted the opportunity we were as things ended up unfolding. The midwife hugged me, saying she was sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, and thanked me for allowing her to be part of it. She was so careful and respectful in honoring everything, I am grateful for her role in this journey over the last 5 days.
Francis Anthony
born 9w3d gestation
Thursday July 30, 2015 approximately 4:18pm
Into the hands of the midwife, and laid on mom's stomach.
His names mean Free and Peace.

Having spent the last 4 days in lamentation, reflection, and tears, I have gotten a lot of catharsis out of it. I know reading this has yanked hard on your own heartstrings, and if you are part of this club, they get yanked harder. I will be forever changed by this. As much as it hurts, I do actually have peace. I've worked through some of the immediate emotional stuff, but I know there is a lot more coming. I'm mentally at ease because I'm no longer waiting for things to culminate. I can pee on the commode again! Physically I felt better immediately, with some residual soreness and tiredness from the whole experience. Based on the lingering dull pain, I'd venture the placenta was attached at the top left side of my uterus. I can now put my life back in gear and move onward. In serving me, my friend was helped with her own healing. She was able to give me the support those around her were unable or unwilling to give her. I am forever grateful and I have been given a gift that most do not receive. I have been supported near and far, prayed for, listened to with a wide berth, hugged, and loved. I know I have been blessed with amazing friends, and I have never taken any of it for granted. It is times like this, you discover just how much people really do love you.
(July 30, 2015 - 11:39pm)

In my own way

That's exactly the spot where I'm standing: In my own way. As in, I'm impeding my own travel.

This year, I have been feeling pulled towards leadership as a Thirty-One consultant, and have an incredible leadership team willing and able to nudge me, train me, encourage me, and kick my butt when needed. I made sure that I chose an upline that would be unafraid of holding me accountable, and R.L. has done exactly that. I wasn't thinking about a position of leadership when I enrolled. As time progressed, I saw that path as the one I was being called to take though.

And in the last several months, I've also impeded my own progress. Call it self-sabotage if you want, because ultimately that's exactly what it is. In examining my situation and reasons and motivation etc, I have admitted to myself and R.L. that I am afraid of succeeding. My wiring is towards worst-case-scenario, and I have a habit of expecting the other shoe to drop. This is in part due to history of our life, and crap heaping at points that break the line holding the tent. Another part is the negative voices I've heard pretty much my entire life, and I'll just attribute that to the family history of depression - along both sides of the trunk. Double whammy for the bonus, right? I am not prone to the same levels of despair that some people experience, because I apparently got enough feisty energy to keep chugging through funks. Along with that, came this big ole suitcase labeled "Fear of Success", that I've been dragging along with me since CHILDHOOD. And that joker has no wheels on it either. It's truly an OLD bag. Quite honestly, it really *is* an utterly asinine bag to be carrying. It's ugly, it doesn't always close all the way, there's always stuff sticking out of it to get snagged on branches and lamp posts and other people as I drag it, and the handle broke in such a way that it won't completely separate itself from the bag nor will it hold well with airplane tape or zip ties. And it's got my name allllllll over it. 

I earned the registration for National Conference back in the first quarter of the year. If I hadn't, I don't know that I would have gone to it, despite the statistics reporting that attendees come home and do more business, grow bigger teams, and promote to next levels of leadership in the months following the event. By the time National Conference rolled around, I hadn't held an in-home show in over 3 months, but managed to scrape up some kind of sales every month but one (goose-eggs for sales numbers is disheartening, to say the least). I was also pregnant with #5, after failing to rebuild my body over the 3 years following the previous pregnancy. I was just in a bad place physically, mentally, emotionally, to the point of contemplating the decision to continue this journey, despite my desire to get away from the merchandising job of almost 10 years, help my husband go back to school, and still maintain some kind of flexibility that I've enjoyed. I'd already bought the plane tickets, booked the non-refundable hotel, earned the registration for free, and not being one to just throw away money, I went to the convention. Exhausting, exhilarating, extremely beneficial.

We were graced with speakers and trainers who shared their story, their ideas, and their inspiration. Gloria Mayfield-Banks included in her presentation, that long, inspiring, kick-my-fear-in-the-face, quote from Marianne Williamson:

 “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Gloria told of how she was able to come from a violent situation, escape it, find joy and love and passion in her life, and then go on to simply stroke a check one day for a child of theirs to attend college - in its entirety. The lady at the reception desk in the financial office attempted to point Gloria and her husband to the financial aid department, and Gloria looked at her and said "No ma'am, I just need the number."  GOOOOOOOSEBUMMMMPS! Then a few days ago, a friend posted that quote on her newly-minted-as-a-grownup-ish daughter's timeline on crackbook. She wasn't the only one who needed to read that.

It's insane that I think I am both inadequate and powerful at the same time, but I flounder on the sidewalk like a fish trying to cross the road between lakes. I know where I'm supposed to travel, but I'm meandering on a random scenic tour, apparently hoping for some magical results, or just expecting that shoe to drop. And then I was sitting in the pew yesterday at Mass, and Fr. Jhon was celebrating this time. He's newly appointed pastor for our parish, and so far, I have loved his homilies. He's right up there with Fr. Mike the canon lawyer history buff who weaves 3 periods of time into the same message. Fr. Jhon played that youtube video produced by Volkswagen, about that Swedish subway platform where everyone took the escalator till a piano was installed along the stairs. Fr. Jhon then went on to say that as humans we are lazies, and that we need to quit using the escalator. He can teach us what we need to know, he can tell us which direction to travel, but ultimately it is we who must do the work, and the walking. We need to use the stairs and put in the work. We need to get out of our own way and go where we are supposed to travel. We won't do anything but wander the desert till then.

And I was sitting there thinking "gee Trish, you've only been hearing the SAME message for weeks now. Get out of your own way already. How much longer are you going to just dawdle around and make things inherently more difficult for yourself?" Talk about smacking me in the face - a LOT lately.

Failure is knowing what you're supposed to be doing, and still not doing it. And failure in that manner sucks monkey butt.

Normally I try to avoid the news because it raises my blood pressure, and demonstrates the moral lows of society. But this is abhorrently low. I don't care what your position on the pro-life/pro-choice conversation is, because the root of this story isn't based in that debate. I have seen this all over the web because none of the mainstream outlets are talking about it (but they'll talk ad nauseum about Vick's antics). They'd rather rail on a dog cruelty case till people get tired of hearing it and stop giving a crap about it, but we won't hear about this human-against-human cruelty at all. But this story of greed, indignity, predatory behavior, municipal failures, and murder deserves more attention than a football player who shot his own foot, or the one who committed his own egregious harm to animals. This case deserves the same kind of outrage that stemmed from the death of Treyvon Martin, minus the division of the populace. Where is Corrine Brown's wig-wearing,, horrible grammar self, lambasting the officials in Pennsylvania for not doing anything to stop this death mill? Where is Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, Gloria Allred, Nancy Pelosi, Sarah Palin, or any freaking body else who claims to be a proponent of equality, fairness, and what's morally appropriate? They're all afraid to go near this story, because it's so horrific and inhumane, they're ashamed to admit nothing was done about it sooner.

I see jerks making judgmental comments about the women that went to this medically trained individual (he's not a doctor or a man - those 2 types will generally be of help and care). Instead of judging women for making the choices they do, start training your sons and daughters to choose mates and partners wisely, and to treat each other with respect, so they don't find themselves feeling so desperate that they have no other option but the path to this guy's office. Because there's always going to be vultures circling the vicinity of anything smelling desperate. And instead of looking down on women who land in tricky situations, reach out to them with compassion and kindness. You don't have to buy them a car, stroller, or diapers, but just give them the emotional support to get through the challenges, and stop kicking people when they're already down as it is.

I was there myself 20 years ago - feeling sticky and trapped and lost. However, I was incredibly lucky. Oh my God, how incredibly lucky I was. I'd had sex with a guy who was raised with morals, and who was not going to leave me stranded. And we got pregnant. SO many people pair up with someone who doesn't hold the same sense of obligation, and they get into trouble for the decision. Emotional, physical, and financial abuse is a small part of it. But the children suffer for it every time.

Thankfully - oh so incredibly thankfully, I did not suffer the same fate my counterparts did. I was not abandoned. I was not left to fend for myself. I was not overtly harmed. I did lose friends. I did miss out on fun. I was looked down upon by many - and yes, I could see it, hear it, feel it. All they saw was someone who looked 12 (I was 17) with a bulging middle, and they never stopped to ask me my story, or offer encouragement. They could only bother to assume unkind things about me, about my parents, about my situation. They contributed to kicking me, and breaking me down - even if only in their minds.

Why are we doing that to each other?

I had a friend whose boyfriend was pushing hard for her to have another abortion after falling pregnant when birth control failed again. I tried to convince her to keep her baby, and promised that I completely understood and grasped her fears, as I'd lived them. I volunteered to help her any way I could so that she could avoid the path she was walking toward. I didn't share with my husband that she didn't want the abortion but she felt like she had no option. He and I both wish I'd told him. He would have intervened with certainty. Later that fateful day, this girl was mourning the loss, and inconsolable. I still feel guilty that I didn't do more.

Had she been given more encouragement, instead of being berated and told she wouldn't make it, I'm certain that she would have done well despite the challenges. I knew she had it in her to get there. A few years later, she reached out to me via IM, thanking me for mentoring her and encouraging her. She finally got away from that particular guy and was living elsewhere and doing well. I do not know what ever happened to her after that, but I think of her often. I know she still carries the burdens of the choices made in her earlier days, and it will forever haunt her.

Instead of casting knowing and judgemental glares at young women who become mothers sooner than they should, smile at them. Stop and say "You look young, and you probably feel daunted and overwhelmed, but just know you're doing the right things to raise your child. I admire you for what you're doing." If you're in a position to do something tangible, ask if they need diapers, bus fare, pants for the child, shoes for herself, a text book for college classes, a car seat that is appropriate for her child's age/stage, lunch money, or even a freaking nap and you'll watch the little for her.

Get back to being a neighbor in the old-fashioned sense of the word, and stop being the person that just lives in the same neighborhood. Be a neighbor and friend, and evil will have less chance to reach the pervasive levels that this individual reached, because people won't feel so freaking hopeless and desperate. Stop giving such a damn about what's in it for yourself, and start just being interested in what's the right thing to do for someone ELSE, without reparation to your own self.

Intention

As per my usual, I have neglected my blog in favor of the instant gratification of crackbook. But I've been insanely busy the last couple months, and trying to shift gears on a few things. I added more to my plate in November when I decided to become a Thirty-One independent consultant. I had an incredibly phenomenal January and I'm just utterly blown away by that. I'm grateful to those who have done what they have done to help me achieve the goals I set out to accomplish. There's a chance I may fall short of one goal this month, and as much as that disappoints me, I am still thrilled with what I did. Devildog was impressed too. Anyone who knows him, knows that is not an easy feat. I am certainly interested in seeing where this journey takes me.

But I started this blog with one word in mind: intentional.

As I've said before, I have been listening to Dave Ramsey podcasts for several months now. One of the things I keep hearing every day is the word intentional. "You have to be intentional about it" is one of the phrases mentioned several times a show.  I am just wired for A.D.D. and that whole "ooh squirrel!" thing nails me every time. As I progressed through the end of 2012, and into 2013, I realized that if I was going to get anywhere better than I am right now, I better be attentive, and be intentional.

Intention means you plan. Doing something intentionally means you lay out the framework, and you DO it. I'm not all the way in place to launch, but I make progress daily. I am constantly restructuring my thoughts, so that ultimately it will lead to restructuring of my actions. Being a work-in-progress is uncomfortable at times. I'm forcing myself to look at what I'm doing, and assign a value to it in my life. And I don't always like what I am evaluating. And then I have to add more to my developmental to-do list so that I don't make the same kinds of errors.

Inadvertently, my personal theme this year has so far become being intentional. And when I am intentional, I generally see decent results. I'm constantly trying to balance the various plates in my life, and trying to return favors that are long-overdue for repayment.
And in the middle of typing this blog, my brain kept poking me off the chair to go load the dishwasher and run it. So I had to, before I decided I didn't feel like it enough to skip that task. This goes hand-in-hand with the stuff I have learned from FLYLady over the last 11 years. It goes hand-in-hand with the stuff I'm learning from Dave Ramsey. It goes hand-in-hand with the ability to accomplish the goals I set for myself. It goes with the idea that I have to pay back into the circle of giving, because I drew from that circle so many times in the past, and I'm finally in a position to help others in a way that I know is directly benefiting them. I'm doing my part to preach the Gospel, and occasionally putting words to it. (See St Augustine for that reference). I've been drawing from that well for about 20 some-odd years. I think I'll be busy for a good long while.

Life, and how you live it

Today, I was scheduled to read at Mass. No big deal, it's old hat by now for me. But somehow, in rushing around to get out the door (forgetting to bring my electronic leash), I ended up with some kind of unprovoked anxiety, complete with elevated heart rate and shallow breathing. I was having the worst time centering myself and clearing my mental clutter. I was pleasantly surprised to see our pastor Monsignor H celebrating Mass today, versus our usual, the associate pastor, Father L. Whoever schedules the priests really needs to consider a rotating schedule, and not hogging Msgr H to whatever Mass that person attends. We love Father L, but Msgr H has some awesome homilies that we don't get to hear as often. Seeing Msgr H in the vestibule, I stopped to greet him and share my delight in seeing him in vestments instead of just his collar. He always has a thought provoking question when we encounter each other. I love how his mind works to make me think about things I wouldn't normally.
Today, he asked "Do you think it's a fair question to ask what people's mindsets are walking into the doors of the church, and what they are as they leave?"
I said "Absolutely, it's a fair question. I know for myself I'm usually rushing to get here on time, and be early when I'm reading, and then sometimes fighting with traffic, and inconsiderate drivers en route. Today was not horrible trying to get out the door on time, but I was a bit rushed because I had to be early. I made great time driving here with no issues. But somehow, I ended up with a bad adrenaline rush that I've had the hardest time clearing away so I can be calm. So I imagine that others are fighting with distractions and diversions and struggling to clear their minds before Mass starts." He shared his thoughts, but wasn't able to finish them, as someone else needed to speak to him. Such is the life of a shepherd.
How awesome was that kind of Divine Intervention in hearing what I needed to hear, and articulating what was going on with me at that exact point in time. I somehow managed to get myself squared away so I could do my job. All the readings talked about living. Today's Gospel reading mentioned the word "life" 9 times. Then Msgr H's homily talked about the readings talking about life, and living it appropriately. He moved on to talk about the NASA Rover Curiosity, and how it will explore unknown places. He asked us to imagine a rover exploring our parish, and how it could be determined that the parish was alive. He asked us to imagine a rover exploring our hearts, and determining if we were living our lives appropriately.
I'm certainly guilty of letting the diversions get more of my attention than they deserve. Right now, I'm supposed to be matching up my coupons to the sales this week so I can restock the house with groceries. We're nearing "Mother Hubbard's Cupboards". But I had to get this out of my brain before I got too diverted and lost it, because I really felt like I needed to share it. I am prone to being easily distracted and my focus gets placed somewhere other than where it's most needed. I prefer to blame my ADD brain, which is only partially accurate. I still am responsible for what I do, and what I fail to do, regardless of how my brain is wired. Today's conversation with Msgr H gave me food for thought, and the homily drove home the point. With school starting, I really do need to make wiser use of my time, and allow fewer diversions to detour my day as much as I have allowed them to do up to this point. I could be so much more productive and have fewer "aw, crap" moments in my life.

How about you? What kind of diversions detour you from what you should be doing? What else can you accomplish if you set aside any number of diversions in your day?