I’m overweight and I’m not unique-there are over 90 million Americans that are struggling with their weight as well. With millions of us in the same boat, you’d think this journey wouldn’t have felt so isolating, but it did. I felt like I wasn’t in the same boat, but rather, I was regulated to a dark and lonely hole-filled rowboat. A rowboat that needed to hide in the shadows so no one, not even myself, could see it as it slowly sunk to the bottom. I didn’t want to be seen, because being seen meant that I would have to acknowledge it, it being the elephant in the room, aka me.

I tentatively pull on a shirt that’s 5 sizes smaller than what I was wearing just minutes ago and it fits. I stare at myself in disbelief. It fits. It actually fits. I glance down at what I had been jokingly calling my “bag lady” clothes flummoxed. In my mind, those “bag lady” clothes still fit, they were just a little roomy and my mind can’t process that the shirt I pulled on somehow fits too. It almost feels like some weird “Sisterhood Of The Traveling Pants” moment, with the exception that it’s my body and not a pair of jeans.

Then the tears and feelings of unworthiness start. You see, when I had this moment, it was a mere 8 days after I had a mini gastric bypass procedure in Mexico. I had been prepared for rapid weight loss & potential emotional moments post-surgery, but I somehow had discounted and ignored the 65 pounds I had lost prior to going to Mexico. While I intrinsically knew my body was different, in my mind, I was still at my starting weight.

People were telling me how proud they were and that I was doing such a great job, but in reality I just felt like a big fat fraud. The first 30lbs or so that I lost? It wasn’t because I was “trying” to lose weight, I was actually suffering with an almost 4 month long covid side-effect that caused my throat to swell. It was harder and sometimes painful to eat, so I stopped eating as much. I didn’t stop eating & drinking the things that contributed towards my weight gain, I essentially was starving myself.  Eventually, my body got used to being starved, so when I finally started a specially tailored bariatric diet, my body didn’t mind. I lost those first 30ish pounds in such an unhealthy manner I felt I couldn’t take credit for them, and the transition to my new diet was so remarkably easy it didn’t feel like I was doing something worthy of praise either.

So how did I become this “elephant” in the room and why am I sharing now? My story starts over 20 years ago and I’m sharing now because I hope that maybe my story might help someone else who is also going through what I went through. It also doesn’t hurt that when I write my feelings down it also helps me process what I’m going through.

You’d be So Pretty If…

Almost all of my life I’ve felt haunted by the words “you’d be so pretty if…” followed by some sort of phrase that was designed to make me feel shame about the way I looked.  It may not have always been exactly “you’d be so pretty,” but the expressions were similar enough to be interchangeable. I’ve heard:

You’d be so pretty if you…

• Just lost some weight
• Tried a little harder
• Watched what you ate better
• Tried exercising
• Gave up soda.
• Joined weight watchers

And the list goes on. I’ve let these “observations” live in my head rent-free for years. Take, for example, an incident that happened over 15 years ago. I was on a trip with a couple of girlfriends, and the organizer also invited a few male friends to join us. One of those male friends made the comment, “You’d be so hot if you just lost some weight.” This was followed by my girlfriends agreeing with him: “You’re so pretty Crystal, but you’d be stunning if you just lost a couple of pounds.” At the time I was a curvy size 12.

Over the years, I learned to condition myself to pretend like those phrases didn’t bother me. I tried not to act like the stereotypical “fat girl.” The girl who always complained about her weight to prevent the eventual shaming that would follow, (i.e., “you did it to yourself,” “you just need to learn some self-control,” etc). Yet as the years went by, it seemed that nothing halted my slow descent towards morbid obesity. Yes, the personal trainers, gym memberships, weight-loss pills, and diets helped slow my descent, but they never seemed to halt it.

How It All Started

However, my story started prior to that trip. It started with family and the comments about what I ate and how I looked. The praise and compliments I received when I was thinner that slowly tapered off as I got larger. I’m not going to dive too deeply into my past here, however, there is one very big issue that started in my childhood that vastly contributed towards my weight gain: ADHD. One of the bad parts of not being diagnosed with ADHD as a child is that it led towards me developing two eating disorders: binge eating disorder and rumination syndrome. Studies have shown individuals with ADHD are 5 times more likely to have binge eating disorder due to issues with impulsive behavior/eating. Eventually, the binge eating disorder and anxiety led towards me developing rumination syndrome. Sadly, these eating disorders were something I wasn’t diagnosed with until the last couple of years and have taken significant time and work to deal with.

It wasn’t until college, and shortly thereafter that my weight started getting out of control more quickly. I had a few traumatic events that led towards massive depression and infertility issues, during which I started gaining weight more rapidly. Then I became pregnant (twice!), and between the pregnancy weight gain/bed rest/mom-life, the focus became my children, and it was easy to ignore that my weight was steadily increasing. I slowly let my life as a mom become all-consuming because it was easier being Everett & Finn’s mom and not “Crystal.” During this time period, I would get comments from my parents about how I was letting “myself go,” but it was easy to brush their concerns off and focus on my boys.

By 2019, I felt like there wasn’t anything I could do that would truly stop and reverse my weight-gain. I decided to try and pretend like it didn’t exist. I decided to preach body positivity, find clothes that looked cute in my size, and celebrate the “all bodies are beautiful” movement. In reality, though, I was just lying to myself and others. I didn’t let anyone know my secret shame- I hated my body. I learned to stop looking in mirrors and either not be in or hide behind people in photos. I stopped talking about all things involving my weight and instead worked on boosting others’ body confidence. All of my negative body thoughts and comments about my weight were shoved into a mental box and put way up high on a shelf my little t-rex arms couldn’t reach.

At the start of 2020, I had a friend who had gone through weight-loss surgery, (WLS), the previous year. I watched her transition carefully-she looked fabulous and felt amazing. Then, my parents offered me money towards a WLS procedure, and I decided that this was an option I needed to seriously consider. I was just about to commit to it when the Covid pandemic hit.

The pandemic hit all of us a little differently, but 2 of the most common side effects from being isolated, weight-gain & depression, also hit our household. I kept my secret body shame close to me though. I would have friends offer to walk with me, join weight watchers, etc, but I would politely brush them off, knowing if I committed to that with them I would have to face that secret body shame box I had “hidden” so well.

Facing My Secret Shame

Finally, in 2022, I made the choice that I was finally going to take the plunge and get my WLS done. To say the people around me were shocked would be an understatement. One friend even made the comment, “When you said you were going to have WLS, I was shocked. You never talk about your weight or have given any indication you were unhappy with it.”

That was kind of the point though. I didn’t want to talk about and acknowledge the fact that by summer 2022 I had reached my highest weight- a resounding 386 pounds. I was shopping for clothes that were 5x and occasionally 6x. My options for “cute” clothes were starting to get extremely limited. What all of my critics about getting this procedure done didn’t know is that this wasn’t some snap decision. They made comments about how dangerous it was and about my level of commitment to such a drastic procedure. They told me I was basically going to kill myself because I wanted some “hot body.” That I needed to spend my money on things like “Weight Watchers” and “personal trainers.”

What my critics didn’t do is ask me WHY I was doing what I was doing. They didn’t ask about what I had done to prepare, what my plans were for aftercare, etc. They just made assumptions. Those assumptions hurt more deeply than I’m willing to admit. As I said before, this wasn’t a snap decision. I had been planning this for years and had been doing significant research on my options. They didn’t understand this was something that I was doing for my family and, most importantly, myself. I wanted to be able to go on hikes with my family, play soccer with my boys, go on bike rides, heck even walk up my driveway without sounding like I had climbed Mount Everest. I was ready to reclaim my body and sense of identity. I wanted to rediscover myself and be more than just “Everett & Finn’s mom.”

Surgery Time!!

I originally wrote a very detailed section here that described not only how the experience was leading up to my surgery, but why I chose to do the things the way I did and what it was like. After writing it, it became apparent that it would be much better suited for a standalone blog. You can find it here: All Roads (Planes) Lead To Mexico .

The Box Falls Off The Shelf

I flew into San Diego for my surgery on January 18th and a driver, provided by the clinic I was working with picked us up to take us across the border. My surgery was early the next morning. I spent January 19th and 20th recovering in their medical suite. In the wee hours of the morning on the 21st, I was released and scheduled to fly home. My only regret? Not booking a room for an extra night. Those flights home were miserable!

Once I was back home, I spent the weekdays with my MIL, trying to keep moving and slowly testing the waters for what my body could/couldn’t handle. I wasn’t hungry per se, I just wanted the flavor and texture of food in my mouth. I didn’t want to actually swallow it though. I jokingly compared it to the scene in Madagascar where the Zebra serves the other animals saltwater drinks that are intended to be spit out.

While she was here, we also went into a local consignment store. They were having a killer sale, so I grabbed a few smaller sized clothing items for when I would be able to fit into them. Upon returning home, I tentatively tried on one shirt to see how much further I had to go before I’d fit into it.

My brain couldn’t wrap around the fact that this shirt that was 4 sizes smaller than what I had just taken off actually fit. I quickly pulled the clothes off, saying I needed to be in looser clothing to give my incisions some space. The next day I tried on a different shirt with a pair of pants that I hadn’t been able to fit into for almost 5 years. The jeans were so roomy that I could basically slide them off my body with a gentle tug. I also quickly took them off in favor of my “bag lady” clothes.

Fast forward to Saturday morning. I was alone in my house for the first time since I had surgery. Everyone else was at the airport, dropping my MIL off for her flight back home. On a whim, I pulled out a shirt I had received from a smaller sized friends wardrobe. It was a size 17 in juniors, so I knew there was no way my body would fit into it, yet somehow it did. Then I tried on something that was an extra large, and holy cow, it fit too.

I broke down sobbing, every emotion hitting me at once.

That box that I had shoved all of my negative body thoughts into? It had hit me resoundingly on top of my head. Those feelings of guilt, fraud, disbelief, etc., that I mentioned above crashed over me like a tidal wave. I called up a friend sobbing that I didn’t think I could get rid of my bag lady clothes, but if I didn’t, how would I be able to get new clothes that “fit”? I called up another friend who could hear the trembling breaths behind my words, and she quickly came over to listen to me as I sobbed.

Over the weekend, I spoke with several friends, including my mother, about the box hitting me on my head. The advice they gave and the listening to me as I processed my feelings was invaluable. However, I still had a major issue- myself.

Facing Myself

I realized that Monday morning, I had avoided looking at my body so long that I didn’t even know what I looked like anymore. I needed to see for myself. I needed to see what my new body looked like. I needed to see that my bag lady clothes truly didn’t fit. I needed to see my new clothes on my body.

On a last-minute whim, I contacted a friend who is also a photographer, aka Jami Tatum Photography. I knew that she would be able to handle my erratic emotional state and capture the images I needed with tact and gentleness. Despite being busy that morning, she quickly came to my rescue and readily understood what and why I needed to see myself.

I won’t lie- even though her photos of me were amazing, I still immediately honed into the things I disliked about my body. However, I expected that knee-jerk response. I knew these photos were my first step towards self-acceptance and love. I pulled up photos of myself from the previous year and compared them. Looking between them, I could finally start to understand and accept that I had lost weight prior to surgery. The elephant in the room was actually shrinking.

The Fat Shaming Epidemic

Our country has an obesity problem, but worst of all, it has an obesity shaming problem. Most of us “elephants” are aware of and know we are overweight; we don’t need someone to point out just how unhealthy we are. As a matter of fact, when you point it out, most of us end up gaining more weight and start developing more health issues. And I’m not just talking about friends and family, I’m talking about every single person that treats us like it is a personal failing, rather than a disease. None of us made the conscious decision to become this way.

This is especially true when it comes to our healthcare providers. Research has shown that on average, doctors not only spend less time with overweight patients, they also treat them with less sympathy, overlook potential non-weight related medical problems, and some even refuse to see overweight patients at all. Those that do see us, often don’t provide adequate solutions for how to lose the weight. There is a lack of actionable dieting advice and a lot of them just tend to shove pills our way. Some believe this tough love approach will shame us enough to fix the problem, but in reality, it pushes the majority of us away.

We stop going to the doctor and ignore easy to fix health problems until it’s a life-or-death emergency. As a matter of fact, this issue has gotten so bad, that those studies showing diseases like ovarian cancer are more lethal when you’re overweight have been skewed. Because a lot of overweight women put off going into the doctor for so long, their issues tend to have progressed to the point where treatment isn’t always going to fix the issue. And if you’re a minority it’s way worse. Don’t believe me? There is proven evidence that the fat shaming stigma is actually causing more issues than being fat.

The US Healthcare System is barbaric and ineffectual. It is failing millions of people and it feels like there is no solution in sight. I tried off and on for years to lose weight. It was a nightmare that left me with a host of body image and health issues. My healthcare providers completely missed that I had two eating disorders, prescribed pills that were unhealthy, and made me feel inadequate, not only in their office, but also in my own body. It didn’t make me any thinner or healthier, instead it led to me to feeling like a failure and gave me anxiety about returning for additional healthcare.

Skinny Girl Bucket List

It’s easy to build up resentment and anger over how many signs and flags were missed about my weight gain, but I have come to the conclusion that it’s not doing me any favors. I would rather focus on the steps I’m taking to take back my life, happiness, and body. There are so many things I let my weight interfere with and I am ready to put an end to sacrificing my joy. I jokingly created what I have deemed my “Skinny Girl Bucket List.” All of the silly things that I told myself I couldn’t do because I was too fat. Things like learning to scuba dive, goat yoga, rock climbing, and pole dancing lessons. Heck, I am even planning on going bikini shopping for the first time this summer. I am ready to live my life and celebrate the hard work that I have and will continue to put in.

Taking these steps are hard, but they are worth it. I am worth it.

The post You’d Be So Pretty If… appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

“I hate you. I hate everyone. I want you to kill me. Someone needs to kill me. I don’t want to be alive anymore. Kill me now. What does blood taste like. I’m going to drink all my blood. You hate me you hate me you hate me. You don’t love me. Everyone hates me. I want to die”

Finn, Age 4 

Everything written above, was said by Finn, to me, in the span of 5 minutes this morning. This morning is our first back at OT and school since break. He’s been becoming more and more dysregulated through this holiday season. It makes sense, after all, we’ve been off schedule, off therapy, and really just off.

What is dysregulation? It is defined as the following:

“Dysregulation, also known as emotional dysregulation, refers to a poor ability to manage emotional responses or to keep them within an acceptable range of typical emotional reactions. This can refer to a wide range of emotions including sadness, anger, irritability, and frustration.”

The effects of dysregulation can be mild or severe, but in our case, as the holidays have come to a end, and as our normal schedule is supposed to resume, calling it severe is an understatement. In general, emotional dysregulation involves having emotions that are overly intense in comparison to the situation that triggered them. This can mean not being able to calm down, avoiding difficult emotions, or focusing your attention on the negative. Most people with emotional dysregulation also behave in an impulsive manner when their emotions (fear, sadness, or anger) are out of control.

As I sit here and write this, I begin to feel the guilt creep in. I know I handled this mornings outbursts poorly. I feel like I’ve  been stuck in a hurricane of my children’s volatile emotions, and that has slowly chipped at my patience. I struggled this morning, as I’ve been struggling the past 2 weeks. Struggled with screaming at the kids “why don’t you have shoes on yet? I’ve asked 48 times!” “We’ve got to go! We are running late!” “Can you please for the love of all things, just put on your dang coat?!? GUYS WE ARE RUNNING LATE!”

I know this sounds like a typical parents morning, but the majority of them don’t have 2 dysregulated children,  one of whom is taking turns playing dead on the ground with screaming back at you they want to die and hate everyone, while the other tries to hit you and screams “this is the worst day of their life” and slams doors/hits the walls.

I know when the adult is dysregulated, the chances of the kids getting regulated are slim to none. Typically my children rely on me to be their emotional regulator, so when I’m not regulated, utter chaos breaks out. We are all left drained. Empty. Sad. Disappointed.

I know it won’t be long until we are snuggling again, but it definitely takes longer for the pain from these moments to fade. However, I live for the good moments in between. I try to keep the memories of the happy and fun times in my head, as a balm to ease the tougher days.

I’m not sharing this for sympathy, but rather insight. To show those of you who struggle with mood disorders, either with yourself, child, spouse, etc, that you’re not alone. For those of you who don’t have this struggle, but who could use a reminder to give a little extra patience to the woman or kid who is a little short with you today.

The post “I Hate Everyone. Kill Me Now” appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

If you would have asked me prior to this morning if I was racist, I would have responded with a resounding and slightly affronted “No.” I’ve been consistently educating myself and my children about the underlying racism in our country for years. I’ve gone to protests and donated my photography services to document them. I’ve read books, picked businesses that supported anti-racist agendas and black creators. I’ve been a keyboard warrior. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do, there was no way I could still be racist, right?

This morning I was confronted with just how far I still have to come. As I was sitting in the drop off line for Everett’s school, I was behind what looked to be a shiny brand new yellow jeep- dealer plates and all that jazz. In my mind, the driver I pictured in the car was a 30-40 something white dude on his way to work. When the driver stepped out to grab something for their child I was shocked. It was a younger black woman, dressed in a business casual outfit, and long purple colored hair, (which was gorgeous fyi).

My first thought wasn’t “good for her, she must have just gotten a new car,” it was “I wonder if she works at the dealership or if they gave her a loaner. There is no way that could be hers.” Within seconds of thinking that I immediately felt guilty and shouted internally at myself “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!”

I started to dissect why I felt the way I initially had. It came down to a life-long ingrained sense that the black community is some how “less” than the white. In addition to that, there was also a deep-seated feeling that it shouldn’t have been a woman driving that car, it should’ve been a man.

I called a close friend and recounted my experience. To my surprise, she immediately said “I am so glad you said something. This happens to me all the time and I thought I was the only one.” It made me realize that as a society, just how indoctrinated these concepts have become.

By the time children start school, they are already taught these types of stereotypes. They ask questions and mentally learn to sort everyone into categories, women are “caring and nurturing,” men are “tough” and hold “important” jobs. Acting “white” is “smart” and more socially acceptable. Using AAVE make you look “uneducated.” I could go on, but I’m pretty sure you get the point. We’re so inundated with these stereotyped messages, and they are so well learned they’ve become firmly ingrained in our minds, so that they get activated and we use them without even being aware of it or realizing it.

I have come a long way from my early 20’s something persona who jokingly said “nigga please” to one of my black girlfriends, (don’t worry she promptly educated my idiotic ass), but I still have a long way to go. We may never be able to unlearn these unconscious biases, but we can learn to recognize and address them. It’s going to take time, patience, and dedication. It’s also going to take ACTUAL EFFORT from us. It’s also not the black communities job to educate you on how to be less racist.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that we need to make a distinction between what people commit to in terms of their values. And I think when you think about people’s values and whether they’re committed to equality and trying to create opportunities for others, most Americans would say yes. Unfortunately, however, we also are prone to making snap judgments about other people, sort of spontaneous, default, quick assessments of others, and those tend not to coincide with our values all the time. Though they tend to look more biased than our values do, recognizing our bias when it happens is the only way we can start to combat these negative stereotypes.

We can also educate our children to be better than us. We can teach them that the assumptions that they make can diminish the experience of others, or constrain their opportunities if they’re not thinking that others are capable of doing a wide range of activities. We can teach them that we reject notions of racial and gender biases, and yet still be very well aware of the stereotypes that are attached to these groups.

You’ll need to become aware of when it is that you display those types of responses, sort of tuning in to when it is you’re most vulnerable to showing bias. You have to have some strategies, some alternative responses, that you could enact, instead of the stereotypic bias. And then you have to work at it. You have to put some effort into it. But with the combination of motivation, awareness, strategies and effort, I feel like we can learn to regulate the expression of these stereotypic biases. We need to look in the mirror and face the ugly truth and make a commitment to stop running from it.

Will I ever unlearn these behaviors? Most likely not, but I do have faith that I’m getting better and that I’m teaching my children better. And that’s enough for me.

I encourage you to also take time this week and think about your own biases and how they have shaped your life. Do you like what you see? If the answer is no, I challenge you to take the steps needed to confront those biases and see how life changes for the better.

The post Overcoming Ingrained Racism appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

When most people think of skateboarding, their first thoughts are usually something along the lines of misfit teens, punk rock, or maybe even guys like Tony Hawk. What they don’t think about, is just how amazing skateboarding is for kids who need occupational therapy. Kids like Everett, who are on the autism spectrum. Kids like Finn, who need help with impulse control. So today I’m going to highlight the awesome benefits of skateboarding for kids with special needs.

Surprising Benefits of Skateboarding

From the time children with autism are toddlers, they are placed into Occupational Therapy which is needed to develop motor, proprioceptive, vestibular skills and more. Skateboarding offers nearly every component of Occupational Therapy, which is why many of these children “crave” to skateboard. It stimulates parts of their brain that trigger focus, hand-eye coordination, and more. Here are just a few of the health benefits:

• Coordination – Skateboarding improves hand, eye, leg and feet coordination. When skateboarding, you need to alter your movements so you skate smoothly and accurately.
• Pain Tolerance – Other sports improve your pain tolerance, but learning how to skateboard includes constantly falling, tripping, cutting your knees and elbows, etc. Believe it or not, this helps to improve your tolerance and build up resilience.
• Stress Relief – Stresses consume people, even kids, all the time. Skateboarding is an avenue to relieve some of those stresses or frustrations.
• Precision – Skateboarding takes a lot of precision to master. You are constantly adjusting weight from one direction to another, switching your speed, and, when good enough, perfecting tricks.
• Reflexes – This one ties together with coordination. When falling or stopping quickly, you need to have quick reflexes to brace yourself or prevent a collision from happening. You learn quickly that running into a railing is not ideal.
• Patience/Behavior Management– Skateboarding, like other sports, requires an immense amount of patience. You will not be the next Tony Hawk after your first time on the board. Falling countless times, missing that tricky bend, and hitting that awesome trick will test your patience time after time. When a skateboarder is having a bad day, annoyed with the world, feels like he could punch through a brick wall what does he do? He skateboards. Same as kids with autism, when their impulse control is almost lost, their anxiety is through the roof, and the screaming and crying is about to begin, break out the skateboard and you’ll find that it helps them work through their current behaviors.
• Social Development- skateboarding allows those who struggle with normal social interaction interact with peers on the level the individual feels most comfortable with.

Skateboarding offers many components similar to occupational therapy such as focusing on motor, vestibular and proprioceptive skills. Saturday skateboarding lessons are quickly becoming one of the boys favorite things to do. Both boys have a weak core and crave high impact activities. Everett has poor motor planning and balance issues, while Finn has poor impulse control and anger issues. Skateboarding is helping tremendously with both. Learning self/impulse control and behavior management is a huge part in why I decided to start the boys with lessons. And perhaps, most importantly, it’s also pretty freaking fun!

Skateboarding has had such a amazing impact on kids with autism that there are several nonprofits that have been created to help connect and introduce skateboarding to those the spectrum. There are even studies that have popped up specifically to research the correlation of brain activity and heart rate between autism and skateboarding. It’s even been approved as an acceptable form of occupational therapy in several states.

Hopefully, with these studies and nonprofits, skateboarding will no longer be looked at as a rebellious pasttime by those who don’t understand it and more funding would be available for using skateboarding as a therapy rather that funding just another information autism organization out there.

I know that right now, the boys have found an outlet they both love and I couldn’t be happier with their awesome teacher and their continued progress. I hope they continue to find joy in skateboarding and that the benefits continue to carryover into other aspects of their lives.

The post Skateboarding On The Spectrum appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

“I want to die. I don’t love you anymore and you’re not my friend anymore. I hate you.” These are about the last things you’d ever want to hear your child say to you, though you might expect it from an overly emotional teen. Unfortunately, I don’t have a teen and these words were screamed at me by my three year old, Finn.

Finn was recently diagnosed with ODD. ODD or Oppositional Defiant Disorder might be a term you’re not so familiar with. A quick Google search defines ODD as:  an ongoing pattern of behavior that is characterized by anger, irritability, as well as argumentative and defiant behavior towards those in authoritative positions. I’m guessing that sounds like every 3, 4 and maybe 5 year old out there to you, right?  Well, not so much.

If you go on to read further, this behavior can be something that kids only exhibit at home or at school, maybe not both. Also, it lasts for a long time, and happens quite frequently. More so than your typical child, even toddlers, as crazy as they are. And this is where I’d like share my story of being a mother to a child with ODD.

Donning My Armor

We’ve been dealing with the “I hate you’s” for a couple months now, but the “I want to die” is new, and it HURTS. Quite frankly,, living with and loving Finn is painful and hard. You have to develop a thick skin, or you’ll quickly devolve into tears. It feels akin to being in an abusive relationship- you never know what will trigger the next explosion, so you’re constantly walking on eggshells.

Before you rush to judgments and try to tell me that Finn “seems normal” or that he’s just “high spirted” so it clearly must be my parenting, I ask that you try to put yourself in my shoes. Raising Everett is tricky, but it’s nothing compared to Finn. Everett had clear issues that I was able to work with at home and therapy. He thrived once he started getting therapy, and unless you spend significant time with Everett, you may not even realize he’s on the autism spectrum. Finn is, for lack of better words, utterly chaotic.

I find myself dreading the simplest tasks with him. Taking him to a playground or friends house is a constant struggle. He manages to make EVERY SINGLE THING into a weapon. Sticks, blocks, trains, etc. I’m constantly waiting to see which child will be his next target. When he’s corrected, he frequently screams “I hate you” and I feel the eyes of other parents staring at me, silently judging.

Don’t get me wrong, he can be the sweetest and cutest child. He loves being snuggled by me and tells me the sweetest things about how much he loves me, but the second I say or do anything that upsets him, boom, the Finn bomb explodes with vitriol. I’m dodging toys while he screams insults at me, all because I asked him to do something simple, like pick up a toy.  And this goes on all day.  Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

No matter how well I put together my emotional armor, he still finds a way to get through my cracks. I’m to the point where I’ve officially been emotionally beat down. The thought of doing anything with him fills me with anxiety. I dread the thought of him getting older and even more potentially violent. I worry constantly about his future and if we will get lucky and he’ll “grow out” of it.

Don’t get me started on the mom guilt side either…You think to yourself, “Gosh, I’m such a horrible mom, I dread the park because I can’t just let him play, what’s WRONG with me”? And then things are bad, and you cry.  And you feel so angry, and sad, and resentful.  And hurt. You’re so hurt, that the next time your child wants to be with you, hug you, love you, it’s hard.  Because you’re a human being with feelings, and it’s hard to let go.  So then, you feel guilty. You feel guilty that you resent this child that you do love SO much, but that you don’t feel like “liking.” And then you find yourself pulling away. Because you’re scared of those feelings. So, somewhere, in the back of your psyche, subconsciously, you pull away.  Shut down. Try not to feel because it’s too much. You feel alone.  Isolated.  People don’t understand.

You’re even at the point that when someone says, “I bet you love being a stay at home mom,” you feel angry. They’ve said nothing wrong, but in the back of your mind, you’re thinking, “HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT WHEN YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH”?  But, they don’t really know, do they?

“He Looks Normal”

The rub of all of this? He presents so typical for short periods of time that I am already having issues getting him help through our school system. From the outside, things look OK. Here’s this beautiful, thoughtful, highly intelligent little boy, who can act like an angel for strangers. Can charm and be friends with any child around him. At home, that same child can be verbally mean, physically abusive, manipulative, and so defiant that asking anything of them is almost pointless. So, people think you’re overreacting. That you’re just overly sensitive to normal childhood behavior.  And you start to think that maybe you are crazy.  Not good enough. Inadequate. That it’s your fault. 

There’s a Jekyll and Hyde situation going on. And nobody sees. And you can convince yourself that nobody cares and that you’re not going to make it. And if I’m being honest, I’m feeling like that most days.

Moving Forward

Right now, we’re in the trenches. Fighting every day, living our truth, being honest, getting help, and doing what we need to do to survive. That means getting him even more therapy and better methods for interacting with him.

We just had him screened and he didn’t meet the qualifications for general special needs, so we are having to get him tested for other issues his pediatrician thinks he may have.  It’s so frustrating to know that he’s suffering from an invisible diagnosis and we can’t seem to get him the help that we so clearly need.

However, our story with Finn is just starting. I’m hoping it has a happy ending, but the harsh reality is that around 40% of children diagnosed with ODD don’t grow out of it and out of that 40%, half of them eventually develop antisocial personality disorder. So I’m going to fight like hell to try to avoid that path. I’m going to do what needs to be done to try to give him every tool he can use to battle this, and, I’m going to tell his story.

Why tell his story? People deserve to know it. Right now, I’m treading water, and sometimes find it overwhelming to do anything more, so I hope this reaches some people that are maybe struggling like I am. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. Hearing the words, “I know what you’re going through” have such enormous power.

Welcome to our journey with Finn.

The post I Want To Die appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

Without fail, multiple times a month, someone will claim Everett’s autism is caused by something outlandish. Usually, it’s the age old, well debunked, vaccine argument.

Some of the things I’ve been “informed” of, pique my interest enough for a Google search, and some are just so out there that it leaves me scratching my head.

The thing is, I’m no longer looking for a cause. I’ve accepted and embraced Everett’s diagnosis. While Everett may be on the spectrum, it isn’t his defining feature. So when someone tries to sell me some “miracle cure” or tell me how Everett “became” Autistic, frankly I don’t care.

They don’t understand that I feel like his diagnosis makes him stronger. That it shows me so many new aspects of the world I never would have noticed before. It makes our family better. Do we struggle? Yes- without a doubt. It can be isolating and lonely. I’m often confused and second guessing myself. However, it challenges us in good ways too.

Obviously, I hate watching Everett struggle, and our pocketbook doesn’t love all the costs associated with an autism diagnosis, but the way his mind processes things is beautiful. So when I hear these outlandish claims, I’ve learned to tune them out. Sometimes I’ll post funny tees with scientifically accurate comebacks, usually though, I just shake my head and move on.

Did You Know….?

Now for the fun part. I’ve compiled a list that includes some of the more crazy things people have claimed are the cause/cure for Autism.

DISCLOSURE THESE ARE ALL FALSE- PLEASE DO NOT BELIEVE OR TRY ANY OF THESE CURES!

• Laundry detergent. Yep. Good old Tide. The cure? Strip all clothes, then hand wash with vinegar, baking soda, & essential oils. Leave in sun to dry. After a few months all autistic related traits will magically vanish.
• Pesticides. Cure? Only feed him food that you can grow yourself or purchase from a local farm that doesn’t use pesticides. Limit meat consumption.
• Worms… or rather lack of. Yep. You read that right. The claim is that modern humans lead too healthy of a lifestyle, (that’s a first), and it’s killed the parasitic worms that kept our ancestors healthy. Hence why we are seeing an increase in modern-day ills.
• Saying Autism. I said the word “autism” in front of Everett and caused it.
• Pollutants. Multiple people have to told me I either live too close to an interstate or in too polluted areas.
• Cellphone Towers. Chem trails. The internet. Come on people, take off your tinfoil hats!
• God. Yep. Someone once told me that God made people autistic to teach other people compassion. Another said it was God’s punishment for leaving the church.
• Demons. Autism isn’t real, those behaviors are actually a sign of demonic possession.
• Endometriosis/Womb Deffects. I shouldn’t have been able to carry a child, and because I forced it with fertility treatments, Everett is now “defective.”
• Finger Length: The length of his fingers predicted his autism. (This one really had me scratching my head).
• Diet, Mental Health & Meds. I didn’t eat enough meat when pregnant. I ate too much meat when pregnant. I didn’t eat enough folic acid. Also in this same vein, my “toxic gut.” Taking antibiotics during pregnancy. Being depressed while pregnant.
• Hot Tubs: someone seriously asked me if I got into a hot tub when I was pregnant, because if I did, the heat “killed his genes” that prevent autism.
• Lyme Disease: I was asked if I tried getting Everett treatment for Lyme Disease, because they read somewhere that it also cured autism. (Newsflash: it doesn’t)
• Parents: I spoiled him too much, I didn’t spoil him enough. I was too caring. I wasn’t caring enough. We make too much money. We don’t make enough.
• Pregnancy: I got pregnant again, (with Finn), and my pregnancy hormones triggered a change in Everett.
• Wishing: I wanted my child to have a “trendy” diagnosis, so I sent autistic intentions towards him and he absorbed them.
• Air Conditioning: I kept the air conditioning too high when I was pregnant.
• And finally vaccines. This one deserves its own section.

VACCINES DON’T CAUSE AUTISM

I wrote a WHOLE BLOG about this when I was attacked by someone who believed this last fall (you can read it here). Here is just a small excerpt:

There is ZERO scientific evidence that vaccines cause autism. The one doctor, or should I say former doctor, that made this claim lost his license for his false allegations. Vaccines, in general, are the safest and most cost effective preventative treatment one can get. Also, what about the children with autism, seizures, and other horrible childhood illnesses that have never had a vaccine? What about the millions of people who have had vaccinations and have had no complications? Yes vaccine injuries have occurred, but it’s the minority, not the majority. And I repeat there is ZERO medical based evidence that vaccines cause autism!

I hope you got a few laughs in- I know I did! Autism isn’t caused by any of these things and autism isn’t something that needs “cured.” It simply is. It’s a part of our lives, but it isn’t our life. We are happy. We are healthy. Everett is just that, Everett. We don’t need or want a miracle cure, we just want him to be the amazing person he was made to be.

The post Your Child is Autistic Because… appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

It’s nice to have another mom to talk to, especially a local one, who has a child with similar issues the same age. The thing is, even though our boys have similar issues, they deal with them different ways. Hence why Autism is called a spectrum.

This year, while I decided Everett actually needed to be in school to thrive, Marjorie made the opposite decision. I felt like it’s a decision a lot of Autism Moms are faced with, even when there isn’t a global pandemic, and I loved her reasoning behind it. I invited her to write a post for the NSSM blog to help out other mothers in a similar situation. I hope you love it as much as I did!

Buckling In: Why I Chose to
Homeschool My Neurodivergent Child

It started with a preschool teacher’s accusatory finger pointed toward my face and ended with me in tears so heavy I could barely catch my breath. Was it all my fault? I felt like an amateur and a failure as a parent.

We moved from Ohio to Alabama only two months prior. This wasn’t our first cross-country move, but it was certainly the hardest on our 5-year-old son, Connor. Connor is on the autism spectrum, and while he has low-support needs, changes as big as moving to a new state can be incredibly difficult for him. He has “invisible” struggles that are, as I’ve learned, hard for others—even educators—to understand.

We were able to get him a last-minute spot in a public preschool program here in our current nook of greater Birmingham. Connor did very well during his 4-hour per day program—just as he did in Ohio, just as I expected. But likewise, just like in Ohio, he was becoming overloaded due to the complicated expectations of school (this isn’t something we were fully able to grasp at the time, however).

Each afternoon when I would pick him up from preschool, he fell apart. He would hold it together in school, and then when I arrived at pick-up, he would immediately let that composure go. It would, on some days, be a momentous struggle to get him buckled in his car seat. He would kick and run around. He would sometimes throw fits and yell. By this point, I was normally sweating with rising anxiety.

When we would arrive at home a short one-minute drive later, he would let it all go. And I mean all of it. He was back in his safe space. At this time, after school each day, he was having legitimate meltdowns—the kind that depleted all of the energy he had and all of the energy I had. While the meltdowns eventually ended each day, he was often left in a very irritable state for nearly the rest of each evening. He would continuously grab and pull things at home and in public in order to gain input to calm himself. He was easily triggered by seemingly small occurrences. My husband and I were both struggling to handle these behaviors and struggling to find an answer. We weren’t perfect, but we were absolutely trying.

On that day the teacher put her finger in my face, I was already close to my mental breaking point. I politely asked her if she had noticed Connor’s struggles to get into his car seat and I asked her if she had any suggestions to help. To my surprise, she said to me, finger pointed toward my face: “I’m probably going to say this the wrong way, but that’s on you.” I was told that I simply needed “clearer boundaries” for him. She did not see him as struggling because she was blinded by his ability to mask in school.

That might not sound like the most terrible thing to hear, but in that moment, it felt like a huge slap in the face. I was a struggling parent and simply asked for advice. Even after I tried explaining during an IEP meeting what I saw happening (no, clear instructions and a social story were NOT working, per her suggestions), she seemed to completely disregard those thoughts.

The consideration that maybe there was something more going on that she couldn’t see was obviously not something that would be entertained during this meeting. I started to question if I could continue to participate in IEP meetings and continue to have teachers misunderstand me and my child.

Unfortunately, kids like Connor are often misunderstood. Behaving in school and academically advanced? Clearly his after-school behavior is simply a result of a lack of parental boundaries.

Oddly enough, we saw a psychologist during this time period and he was able to witness the meltdowns and behaviors I was seeing. Maybe teachers didn’t believe me, but he saw it. He said, “Marjorie, I need you to know that this is not parenting related. He is struggling with anxiety and impulsivity and overload. This is nothing you are responsible for. I’m glad I got to see it so I can get the full picture.”

“Marjorie, I need you to know that this is not parenting related. He is struggling with anxiety and impulsivity and overload. This is nothing you are responsible for. I’m glad I got to see it so I can get the full picture.”

THIS.

THIS lifted me away from anger. I think I called everyone I knew that day to tell them how validated I felt. I wasn’t a failure. I had a kid who was struggling and now it was time to “buckle in” and figure out how to drive all over again.

Shortly after, to the shock of everyone around the world, covid-19 happened. And our worlds changed drastically. While many others were struggling, we were, for the first time in years, finding peace and calm and happiness.

This is not to say everything was immediately perfect. But once school abruptly ended, we were able to study our son more closely. We started to figure out his triggers, his limits, and what was overstimulating for him. We noticed that his moods were getting better. He wasn’t as irritable or as easily frustrated. I can’t say it was all due to school, but that was certainly a huge part of his life that had been taken away completely. It only made sense.

We’re now starting to see and understand that Connor “masks” in some situations like school and then lets go of that mask when he’s no longer forced in that situation, or when he just can’t take it anymore. We have since witnessed this in other circumstances (after long outings or especially overwhelming environments like restaurants or chaotic playgrounds, for instance).

As the weeks went by, I was able to create the type of peaceful routines I noticed that he needed. I utilized some strategies taught to me in OT. When I noticed him becoming overloaded, I pumped the brakes and allowed him to do things like use his iPad, draw, use materials like play-doh, and just generally unwind. It was starting to work. My husband and I were in true disbelief. He hadn’t had a single meltdown in weeks. He was listening better. He was behaving better. He was connecting more than ever before with his sister and with us.

When it came time to make a decision about homeschooling, we decided it was worth giving a shot. After all, at the time it didn’t seem like schools would be a safe place anyway, and I knew the addition of wearing masks would be even more overwhelming for Connor. Not to mention going from a 4-hour preschool day to a 7-hour Kindergarten day.

I consider myself to be a very quietly stubborn person—as in you might not realize how much I will fight or push or work to make something I care about happen. And that’s exactly what I did when it came to homeschooling. I researched and learned along the way. I ended up switching curriculums just two months in, because I found one that better met my son’s needs. I fiddled around with schedules and observed how much time my son could spend learning each subject before needing a sensory break. I was able to fully advance him a grade level (and sometimes more depending on the subject). As a child who is academically strong, he was both struggling in school and not working at his ability levels.

Talk about a less-than-ideal situation.

Now, he gets to work exactly where he’s at and even pursue topics of interest that are not covered in kindergarten—he loves studying countries, cells, computer animation, you name it! He also has more time to participate in wonderful social skills groups, martial arts (which is proving to be an awesome outlet for him), and I am able to help guide and process social interactions with him. For the first time in years, I can take deep breaths again.

I can honestly say that, right now, I rarely have moments where I sit and cry because I’m so overwhelmed and feeling hopeless. And goodness, my child really seems like a happy child, which is all I’ve ever wanted for him. He really isn’t having meltdowns anymore, like, at all. Sure, he certainly doesn’t always behave or listen, he still gets overloaded and irritable sometimes. Life isn’t perfect, and I’m still learning as we go.) But, it’s been five months since schools shut down in March and we’ve only had a few meltdowns here and there. He used to have them everyday, sometimes multiple times a day. His general mood is so much calmer and happier. He follows directions well and even volunteers to help around the house. He does really kind things for everyone in his family, and because he’s happy, we can see how that impacts our entire family. We are all happier. There is a sense of peacefulness in our home that we’ve never experienced. And I’m no longer as anxious when I take him to parks or around other kids. He’s making a lot of progress. I think because we are now in this calmer place, we’ve been able to actually focus on skills like socializing and good behavior.

Before, it just felt like getting through the day was all we could do. I know new challenges may arise (actually, undoubtedly, they will), but I’m ready for them. And through this experience and transition to homeschooling, I’ve learned that I have the tools and ability to figure it out. I have more trust and confidence in myself as a parent. Even on days I feel discouraged, I remind myself that I love my child more than anyone on this planet, and that has to be enough. I will always do what’s best for him and tweak our situation and environment as needed.

Homeschooling was never something I thought I’d do. But I was given a child who is a little “different” and is honestly more amazing than I can put into words. The way his brain works astonishes me. That may mean that he doesn’t fit neatly into the box others expect him to fit into, but that’s the beauty of homeschooling—he doesn’t have to be in a box. Actually, his space and capacity to learn is now wide open. I cannot say with certainty that we will homeschool forever. I have no idea what the future holds.

I do know that this is absolutely working for now. Even on days we have setbacks, it’s still so much better. Homeschooling I’m sure will not or does not work for all neurodivergent children, but I do know that it works for some. (Sidenote: there are numerous Facebook groups just for autism and homeschooling!)

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, Connor now gets in his car seat for me with no issues. He buckles himself in and it’s no longer a stressful experience. I think it’s safe to say it took a whole lot more than clearer boundaries and a social story attached to the back of my seat.

Daily schedule (times vary by the day, but this is a “typical day”)
7-8 am: get dressed (we get dressed even on days we stay home!), breakfast, free play
8-930 am: our typical “school hours” where we cover core subjects, including ELA, math, and handwriting (we use “The Good & The Beautiful” curriculums, primarily). I also have activities from “The Peaceful Preschool” for my 3-year-old daughter.
9:30-10 am: snack time
10-12 pm: active time – we like (have to!) to get out of the house, so usually this means a playground, a visit to the science center, a playdate with friends, etc.
12 pm: lunch out or at home
1 pm: usually our “down time,” which can mean anything from a little bit of iPad time, sensory bin play, doodling with art supplies, etc.
2 pm: This is when we often do other subjects, like science and social studies. We do science experiments (a favorite!), read books on social studies topics, art projects, etc.
3-4 pm: I try to cook most days and include the kids! So we are typically getting things prepped and cooked for dinner at this time.
4-5 pm: Connor just started taking martial arts classes, so usually this is the time we are heading there or participating in martial arts

The post Living Life On The Spectrum, Homeschool Edition appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

As I jokingly call myself a “Recovering Catholic,” I struggle to put into words the question that was just asked of me:

What exactly do you believe in, if it’s not God?

The truth is, I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t exactly fit into any religion. I don’t really think there is some all powerful man staring down from the heavens watching all of us, but I’m not above believing in so called “miracles” or forces that are beyond my comprehension. I’ve thought a lot about this since realizing that I could no longer be Catholic. For those of you who are curious, my realization came after admitting to myself that I honestly didn’t believe in transubstantiation. Transubstantiation is the process during communion when the wafers and wine transform into the body and blood of Christ- a major tenet of Catholicism. I already had some issues with the church that I was struggling with- from the treatment of those in the LGBTQ community to only men being allowed to be priests, but that one realization made it clear I was no longer in the right community. Since then, I’ve explored other religions and haven’t found anything that I can get behind 100%.

While I personally find most organized religion to be somewhat unappealing, I don’t necessarily feel religion itself is a bad thing. I do however struggle with the hypocrisy. I’ve met a significant amount of people who say they believe in certain religious values, yet they don’t actually practice said values in their every day lives. It feels like for most individuals, church is either a place for socializing, what they’ve always done without questioning, or a way for them to feel like they have some kind of “moral licensing” over others. That’s not to say that there aren’t true believers who live up to their religious beliefs out there, but I’ve seen enough people that don’t to make me leery.

Raising Secular Children

Personal experiences aside, I don’t want my children to treat other humans with compassion because some mysterious higher power told them to, or because they are afraid of the fiery depths of hell. I want them to be good humans simply because it’s the right thing to do. This is how we should treat all humans, regardless of their age, gender, race, sexual preference, size, religion, etc.

Granted, many individuals learn selflessness, generosity, and gratitude through religion — because religion does instill these values — countless others do not. Forgiveness isn’t exclusive to religion. Thankfulness isn’t exclusive to religion. Empathy and understanding are not exclusive to religion. Religion and morality are not inextricably linked — because religion doesn’t make good people. People make good people.

Dealing With The Big Questions

I won’t lie, sometimes it would be nice to have religion as a backup for those “big” questions, about things like death, life, differences, and morals. There is a certain comfort that comes from having a God like figure in your life, knowing that he is taking care of you and loved ones as well as feeling like there is some greater plan to your life. So how do we handle these types of questions?

I’ve found that just being as honest and compassionate as possible is usually the best path. Children can handle the truth as long as it’s presented in a way thats suitable to their age level. I have a few great examples of this:

Over the summer, Everett finally started getting interested in why girls had a “fahchina” aka vagina. My first explanation involved the most basic details. I explained that it was essentially the female version of a penis and that it just looked and acted a little differently.

This explanation held him over for a couple weeks, then he came up to me and asked again. The simple explanation didn’t work. He wanted to know how they worked and why I was bleeding. So I explained it in very basic scientific terms and showed him a kids anatomy book so he could see a woman’s reproductive system. He thought it was super neat and hasn’t asked a question about it since.

My other example deals with death. Last fall when Everett’s pet rabbit, Snowball unexpectedly passed away, I really struggled with how to best comfort him. It would have been so easy to tell him that his rabbit went to live in bunny heaven and was having the time of his (after)life. The scientific approach, ie explaining the life cycle, also didn’t work with Everett. He didn’t believe the bunny was truly gone until he saw the dead bunny, then insisted that after the bunny went into the earth it would come back, (side note: how terrifying would that be ?‍?), and kept  asking us to dig the rabbit up to make sure (we didn’t).

Obviously, only time really heals a broken heart, but what really helped Everett the most was writing the bunny a letter that we buried beside his grave (so Snowball would know how much he was loved). We also planted some flowers on top of the grave, so Everett had a visual representation of how Snowballs memory could be kept alive.

Given that I feel that everyone should be treated equally, I don’t feel right forcing a religion onto the boys- it should be their choice. My husband and I may identify as nonreligious, but we both believe our children deserve the right to make their own choice on the matter. We plan on exposing them to various options once they start having questions. We hope to do this as unbiased as possible, but we will be honest with them about why we chose to be secular.
Living in the Bible Belt and being secular can be isolating, so I can understand if they want to join in with their peers when they are older. Our goal is to simply make sure that they understand what their choices are and to let them pave their own path.

The post Why I’m Raising Secular Children appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

“Let people help”. “Rely on friends and family”. “Don’t be shy to ask family members to help around the house”. This is the advice touted on every baby blog, in all of the pregnancy books and shouted from the rooftops by experienced moms. But what if you can’t?  

The end of my pregnancy and beginning of my daughter’s life hasn’t looked at all how I expected it to. Breastfeeding classes? Canceled. Mommy-and-me play groups? Nonexistent. Friends and family coming over to meet the baby and help around the house? Nothing but a fantasy. As thankful as I am to have had a healthy baby girl and an amazingly supportive partner, I still feel like COVID-19 stole this time from me. I’m still processing and mourning the loss of a time in my life that was supposed to be happy and exciting.

My stepmom planned a wonderful baby shower for me, with friends and family flying in from all over the country, that I never got to go to. I bought a dress for the pregnancy photoshoot that never got to happen. Gazing at our bundle of joy via ultrasound with my husband by my side ended up being me alone in a room with the technician, wearing a protective mask, trying to record a video of that dark screen on my iPhone to show my husband later. My mother-in-law hasn’t even met her grandchild for fear that she would bring the virus up with her from Florida.

Being pregnant and giving birth during a global pandemic has been one of the hardest experiences of my life. The social isolation alone was challenging, but to experience that with pregnancy and postpartum hormones on top of caring for a newborn for the first time seemed almost insurmountable. When hospitals started restricting visitors, I read story after story of women who were forced to give birth completely alone because the visitor policy didn’t allow their child’s other parent.

Whether I would elect to have a homebirth or have my husband unable to attend the birth of his first child was not a decision I ever envisioned having to make. Thankfully, I didn’t have to. What I did end up having to do was arrive in the hospital, after 24+ hours in labor, breathing through a piece of fabric.

Before I could get inside, I had to stop and get my temperature checked, knowing that if I “failed”, they would try to isolate my baby from me immediately after birth. The fear that they would try to take my baby from me and prevent skin-to-skin, breastfeeding and general motherhood immediately after birth brought me to tears on more than one occasion. Had I tested positive, I was prepared to insist they leave her with me or I would have to leave the hospital and birth somewhere else.

Again, I’m thankful it didn’t come to that.

Once inside, I couldn’t be taken to L&D until I had my COVID test results back. After having my upper nasal cavity assaulted by a lengthy Q-tip, I continued to labor in an emergency department hospital room with no access to pain medication. We were told that I could remove my mask after getting the all clear from the test, but that as soon as the baby came out of me, I had to put my mask back on. At the time, I remember feeling SO grateful that I didn’t have to push with the mask on my face, which isn’t something most mothers have to incorporate into their birth plan. My husband was told to wear a mask the entire time (though to be honest, we both kept forgetting to put it back on when people came in the room with everything we had going on). All of the nurses wore masks at all times. In fact, I saw a nurse in the hallway without a mask on and asked her if she had seen my nurse who had been helping me for days. It turns out she actually WAS my nurse (embarrassing), but I had no idea what she looked like because of the masks.

As if giving birth during a global pandemic wasn’t enough weight on my shoulders, our country simultaneously (finally) began stepping up against systemic racism. While we were in the hospital after birth, our plan was for my husband to run home to tend to our dog on the second day. However, rioting around the globe and within our city resulted in a curfew during my hospitalization, and if my husband left, he wouldn’t be permitted to come back into the hospital until the next morning when curfew was lifted.

Coming home from the hospital was more emotional than I envisioned. I was leaving the safety of on call lactation support and endlessly being able to ask the nurses “is this normal?”. I knew these resources, normally available to new moms after they leave via support groups and meetups, would not be available to me.

When I did find a lactation group still meeting in person, my husband and I debated if it was safe for me to go get some much-needed help getting my baby to latch. My internal monologue debated if I was a horrible mother for risking exposing my child or if I was a horrible mother for not getting the nursing help that I knew I needed to feed her well. It felt so lose-lose. Ultimately, I made the decision that I thought would best set up my daughter for lifelong success and got the help that I needed to nourish her little body.

After a few weeks of settling in and things starting to get easier, I started reading some more baby books again now that I had the time. When the first chapter of a new book started with an emphasis on accepting help from friends and family, I literally threw the book across the room and cried to myself. When my family tried to guilt me into traveling with the new baby or letting people come see her that hadn’t quarantined, I sobbed in the shower. I wasn’t having to choose which daycare to put my daughter in when returning to work, I had to choose whether I was a horrible parent for even considering putting her in daycare during this time or if I should give up my career that I love. If I didn’t have the support of my husband, I don’t know how I would have emotionally made it for this long (shout out to all the single parents – I cannot even fathom how awesome you are for surviving!).

But hey, it’s not all bad – at least I didn’t have a ton of strangers touching my stomach for the last 4 months of pregnancy! In all seriousness, living through this situation has taught me that I can handle a lot more than I thought I could. It also taught me that there are more ways than one to lean on my support system.

I sought out others going through what I was going through. I found a lot of solace in two reddit groups – one private group specifically for mothers due at the same time as me (every birth month has a private reddit bumpers group – I highly recommend you find yours!) as well as an open group for pregnant people during this time called CoronaBumpers. My husband and I may not have hands on help, but I know we have support day and night through a network of amazing friends and family, even if it is virtual.

Two months after she was born, I still don’t know if I’m doing things right. I have no idea if I would be learning tips and tricks from other mothers that would make raising her easier. I’m still feeling isolated and lonely, but when I’m feeling really overwhelmed, I take a whiff of that amazing new baby smell and I know we will get through it together.

-Abbi Hernandez, Ph.D.

7/24/2020

The post Please Tell Me More About Your Uncomfortable Mask appeared first on Not So SuperMom VS Society.

You may remember that I’ve started a long term photography project called #motherhoodintheraw. It’s all about learning to love your body again after having children.

Your postpartum body is as permanent a state as parenthood itself, and society as a whole, are conditioned to find reasons to not love it. My project is all about highlighting the beauty and changing the negative perspectives surrounding postpartum imagery.

The postpartum body is such an intense thing. You’re stuck in this place between what you used to look like and what you want to look like, neither of which will actually be achievable. You just grew a freaking human inside your body! Everything moved, shifted, stretched to accommodate these tiny beings. No one talks about how your stomach may be numb for years or how your ass literally deflates. I had two c-sections and have breastfed for five out of the past five-and-a-half years. Breastfeeding boobs are not to be confused with the large, perky ones you see on these breastfeeding celebrities in magazines. No, these are mounds of milk-filled flapjacks, and you can’t wear underwire to keep them up because it could cause a blocked milk duct.

Certainly pregnancy does create body changes. Those are things that should be appreciated and valued and not used as a weapon to limit our worthiness. Reframe your thoughts toward body appreciation when you notice criticism pop up. Or, how about acceptance? Even if you can’t find something you appreciate about your body, can you accept that it just is, releasing the judgment of good or bad? Let me be clear: Acceptance is not apathy. You are not giving up when you accept what is. You can still care about making important changes to your eating and exercise habits, how you cope with stress, or any other change that is important to you.

Resist the urge to compare your body to anyone else. It’s a human tendency to “compare and despair” as a way of assessing your self-worth. We can’t help that we do it, but we can control our response. Instead of body bashing yourself, just notice the comparison and give yourself a little mental hug, like you would your kids, letting them know you care. Say “It’s ok to be hurting about this, you are worthy and loved as you are.” This gentle response practically ensures that you will be in a better mindset to consider whatever self-care practices you can manage that moment: a drink of water, sleep, a balanced meal, a quick workout, a hot shower, or a good book.

A few things to remember and to tell yourself:

• All bodies are good bodies (yes all bodies).
• My body is worthy just for being born and for everything it’s done for me since then.
• I respect my body exactly as it is right now even if I wish it would change.
• I am fully committed to taking good care of my body as it is right now.
• My well-being matters to me more then weight, shape, appearance, and pants size. What do I need right now for my well-being?
• I will notice my negative thoughts and feelings, especially when I compare myself to others.
• I will treat myself with kindness – the way I hope my children will care for themselves when they are my age – even when it’s difficult.
• I have permission to have a bad body moment, day, or week without it being a judgment on how good I’m doing at body acceptance. I’m human.

Becoming a parent changes us, physically and mentally, forever. We will all do better when we embrace this new normal and reject unhelpful demands directed at our bodies. We deserve better.

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