A September to Remember: Unraveling What I’ve Knit Together
Here’s my very last ~A September to Remember~ guest post! I’ll be sharing a wrap-up soon of all the wonderful ‘vintage finds’ shared by these awesome writers. So enjoy this last, but so very not least, post from a very raw and honest Zoie @ TouchstoneZ. (Loss mentioned)
~~~~Unraveling What I’ve Knit Together~~~
I have early memories of feeling wrong within myself. I may have been four years old the first time I can recall believing I was bad. I know I didn’t have the words to identify the feelings, but I had them. I have never felt that I had the right to be alive. My entire life, I have had this little doubt that crept into every experience and tainted it just enough to keep me from holding it fully to my heart-the belief that I was broken somewhere inside.
I found this poem I wrote fifteen years ago:
Since Puck is Taken
If I show you my poetry
You will see inside of me
Core of polluting coal
50 pack lung-seeming soul
Craven, cowering
Rotten bulb flowering
So I will never show
And you will never know
And it dawned on me why the circular thinking of PPD was so appealing to me. It felt like a comfy wool sweater that was well-worn and familiar. I could slip it on like a protection from the elements of my life that felt raw and chafing. I had worn this sweater before. The only time I can recall taking it off was after the birth of my first child. I felt so empowered that nothing could make me un-love myself.
Then I got pregnant for the second time. And that pregnancy ended in a stillbirth. And I pulled my old sweater on without even noticing. I didn’t take it off for the birth of my second son. I zipped it up and added a hood when I got PPD for the first time. Then, the PPD was a bit better and I took off the hood. I mourned the lost time from the PPD haze but wasn’t ready to take it off yet. It wasn’t until after the birth of my third son and PPD returned that I had had enough. I didn’t want to lose more time to this.
I decided that this time, instead of periodically trying to rip off the sweater and throw it away (because that always ended up with me digging frantically in my mental garbage bins to put it back on) I would caress the sweater. Enjoy its fine knit and excellent fit. I made this sweater. I placed each stitch of wool in myself. It is lovingly crafted to protect me and I honor it for what I have made. I honor myself that at least some small part of me has always been able to see the true me and wrap it up in warmth and protection.
For the first time, perhaps in my life, I feel ready to address a lifetime of depression. I can notice it because of the skills I have been working on: sitting with uncomfortable feelings and holding them. Just holding them.
Grief
Grief over the loss of my daughter. Grief over the loss of all the parts of myself I never allowed. Grief over the childhood, teenhood, and adulthood that was black with this belief.
Grief
Grief over how things are not the way I want them to be. Grief over the loss of time and closeness with my children and my husband. Grief over not living my life the way I wanted and for not being as loving with myself and others as I want to be.
Grief
I’ve been allowing grief to arise. I’ve been putting my arms around my heart to hold me together because I’m afraid I’ll fly apart if I even look at these feelings. I’ve been noticing them, crying over them, and watching them come and go as I need them to.
And Anger. There’s a lot of anger underneath the grief, and I’m terrified of anger. I don’t know what to do with it. So, I don’t do anything with it. I sit with it. I can always put my sweater back on if it gets too scary. It’s folded up in my lap for whenever I need to hide.
Don’t forget to head over to check out Zoie @ TouchstoneZ!
Award-winnning author, L.R.Knost, is the founder and director of the children's rights advocacy and family consulting group, Little Hearts/Gentle Parenting Resources, and Editor-in-Chief of Holistic Parenting Magazine. Books by L.R.Knost include Whispers Through Time: Communication Through the Ages and Stages of Childhood ; Two Thousand Kisses a Day: Gentle Parenting Through the Ages and Stages ; The Gentle Parent: Positive, Practical, Effective Discipline ; and Jesus, the Gentle Parent: Gentle Christian Parenting the first four books in the Little Hearts Handbook gentle parenting series, and children’s picture books Petey’s Listening Ears and the soon-to-be-released Grumpykins series.
A September to Remember: I’ve Gone to the Dork Side
Such a sweet ‘attic find’ from Zoie @ TouchstoneZ!
~~I’ve Gone to the Dork Side~~
Image via Wikipedia
Nat has a fairly decent obsession with Legos right now. So, we took the family to a Lego convention in San Jose. Being Legos and being in Silicon Valley, the convention was filled with a variety of nerd species. There were steam punks, Star Wars and Star Trek (avoiding one another of course) and even a few self-created Sci-fi-ish creatures. The majority were those I affectionately call garden variety geeks.
I love nerds. I wish when I was younger that I had recognized their coolness. I would have made much healthier choices in boyfriends and girlfriends if I had gone to the dork side earlier. Most of the kids in my circle were more concerned with vying for social status than in being kind or understanding of other people. It was not something I enjoyed, so I hopped around from friend to friend every few weeks when the back-biting got to be too mean for me. I have found most geeks to be genuinely interested in understanding one another’s diversity in a more organic way than the garden variety un-geek. There are of course many exceptions on both sides of wherever that arbitrary dork-line is drawn. I tend to be attracted to those who have that quality of acceptance and really, even the un-geeks are still freaks, they’re just better at appearing normal (cliché alert: whatever normal is)
I’m married to a self-named geek. I’m not entirely certain that his high school classmates would agree if his yearbook is any indication. But he does have the hallmarks, such as, being a techie, loving SciFi, and having a few embarrassing photos of his 12 year old self, involving a Blues Brothers hat and shorty-short shorts. Aside from that, he’s self-confident although quiet. He’s very open to his much more emotional wife’s hare-brained ideas about crunchy parenting and green living (except backyard chickens, but I’m working on that.) He’s down with wearing a Star Wars shirt and rocking an Ergo.
We went from display to display of intricate lego builds with Nat extolling his wonderment. Gan had an excellent view from the carrier on his Dad’s back, so was also entranced. Bud was getting squirmy and needed a feed, though. I spotted an empty hotel conference room style chair pushed against the wall and quickly pounced on it so I wouldn’t have to breastfeed sitting on the floor. Sitting on the floor to breastfeed can be nice because fewer people glance at me (unless I position myself accidentally at a hallway junction or something, as I’ve been known to do when distracted by a rooting bub) But I’d prefer not to directly expose myself or my nursling to the unknown level of cleanliness of or the industrial cleaners used on a hotel conference hall carpet.
My View of Lego Festival
So, I breastfed on this hotel chair with my back to the wall, sandwiched between some worn out grandparents and I noticed something. I was being looked at. A lot. But, not in the way you’re probably thinking. It certainly wasn’t something I was used to.
There were many moms there trailing behind their gangly teen sons who overtopped them by a foot. And they would each smile fondly as they passed by. I could see in their faces that they remembered their boys as babes at the breast. I felt uplifted by these wordless connections. It’s not often I have such an overwhelmingly supportive experience breastfeeding in a crowd of strangers.
I smiled at my own nursling and imagined him overtopping me by a foot by the time he’s a teenager. I hope I’m lucky enough to trail behind him at a Lego festival and smile wistfully at another mama breastfeeding a future dork.
Thank you to Zoie @ TouchstoneZ for her generous contributions to ~A September to Remember~ and don’t forget to check out her blog!
Award-winnning author, L.R.Knost, is the founder and director of the children's rights advocacy and family consulting group, Little Hearts/Gentle Parenting Resources, and Editor-in-Chief of Holistic Parenting Magazine. Books by L.R.Knost include Whispers Through Time: Communication Through the Ages and Stages of Childhood ; Two Thousand Kisses a Day: Gentle Parenting Through the Ages and Stages ; The Gentle Parent: Positive, Practical, Effective Discipline ; and Jesus, the Gentle Parent: Gentle Christian Parenting the first four books in the Little Hearts Handbook gentle parenting series, and children’s picture books Petey’s Listening Ears and the soon-to-be-released Grumpykins series.
Meanderings by Rosemary Jones
I wish there was someplace less than 30 miles away that could make me a good macchiato. But nooooo. Seattle is the only home of decent coffee. Not li’l ole Everett. I wish baristas wouldn’t ask “Like, a caramel macchiato?” when you order your drink.
I wish we could live in Seattle. The pawnshops, the boarded up pay-by-the-hour motels, the dirt of our surroundings wears on me at times. But then I see the dirt of Seattle, and know that there are hurting people and disease of the soul and ugliness everywhere and that the only utopia will be after this life. And then I come home and see the beauty of our culturally diverse neighborhood; projects yes, but a dozen countries represented, children tearing about in the nearby parks hollering at each other in a dozen different languages, and I know our multi-cultural-ministry hearts are planted here for a reason.
I wish Jesus were here in the flesh so I could ask Him a whole load of questions.
I wish my little section of heaven would include my CuteBoy best friend ever, a truly free spirit, texture and color and beauty yet unseen, somehow the perfect blend of a rich, heterogeneous urban dwelling with galleries and street musicians and food hawkers on one half and the other half an endless ocean, the waves crashing, the salty seaweed scent soothing, and the ability to switch between the sounds of the urban and the sounds of the sea at my will. I would wish for the assignment of food, food, food, glorious food. Heavenly food, access to anything
and everything, each era, each region, each culture on earth and in heaven represented on my menu; no burnt fingertips, no pots boiled over, no underdone bites. I’d serve a dozen courses to Esther and Vashti and Hagar and Jael and every other fierce woman in Biblical history. I’d serve them to my dear Ruthie, my Ugandan sister I wish to see this side of heaven. I’d serve them to my grandmother and my sister… the older sister I was supposed to have, who was taken to heaven too soon, I’d serve them to my babies I never got to hold. And of course Jesus in the flesh so I can ask Him a whole load of questions. We would eat and drink and talk and never grow full or tired or bored or annoyed because someone said something stupid.
But chances are, He’s laughing at my wishing imaginings of heaven ’cause His unknowable plans are a whole lot better. I wish I had a home big enough for all of these babies.
I wish for the day we take our family to that Great Horn, the source of the Nile, the land that holds the best food in the world to finally meet the rest of our babies I know God has for us.
I wish I saw children spoken to with the respect they deserve more often than I do.
I wish I knew how to say more than “Where’s the post office?” in Russian. That was an expensive class.
I wish Every Single Person would take the time to listen to this man’s story. Really Listen To It.
And while you’re at it, read this book too.
I used to wish for bigger breasts, critically eyeing my 12-year-old body, wishing for justthatmuchmore and now I wish for a flatter stomach, critically eyeing my 32-year-old momma body, wishing for justthatmuchless. Which my husband reminds me is absurd, it’s sexy because it’s an empty pocket where our daughter grew and how much more beautiful is that? I now wish my daughter will not be subjected to our culture’s obsession with physical perfection, and if necessary, has her own husband to remind her of her true beauty.
I wish I always knew what was going on in my BabyGirl’s head and how to translate her sweet babblings and raspberries into words I understand.
I wish I knew how to make a killer hollandaise sauce. And a sexy poached egg. And perfectly crisp hashbrowns. Then I would never have to go to another diner again.
I wish I could bottle the scent in the crook of my daughter’s neck. But it’s so much more than the scent… It’s the sensation of her hair grazing her earlobe and the tip of my nose, it’s her giggles when I kiss her, it’s the peace of breathing her in after she’s asleep. That’s what I wish I could bottle.
I wish Every Single Child was parented with intentionality, with grace, without violence, with the closest thing we can possibly achieve to the perfection of our Heavenly Father.
I wish every heart, including mine, would expand to defend and provide and rescue the orphan. That every heart would break for the things that break His.
Only I don’t have to wish. Because I serve a God who hears my prayers and does as He sees fit.
Which even though I don’t understand it, is usually better than my wishes anyway.
Award-winnning author, L.R.Knost, is the founder and director of the children's rights advocacy and family consulting group, Little Hearts/Gentle Parenting Resources, and Editor-in-Chief of Holistic Parenting Magazine. Books by L.R.Knost include Whispers Through Time: Communication Through the Ages and Stages of Childhood ; Two Thousand Kisses a Day: Gentle Parenting Through the Ages and Stages ; The Gentle Parent: Positive, Practical, Effective Discipline ; and Jesus, the Gentle Parent: Gentle Christian Parenting the first four books in the Little Hearts Handbook gentle parenting series, and children’s picture books Petey’s Listening Ears and the soon-to-be-released Grumpykins series.
