Cocoon of Chaos

Food as Medicine

For as long as I can remember, I've had a love-hate relationship with food. I love to eat good food, indulge in the gifts of my husband's amazing kitchen skills, but unfortunately, my digestive system  does not share my love for such pleasures. I was the kid at sleepovers dying of heartburn after a slice of pizza or sick to my stomach after a cupcake. My system has just never quite worked right. Ironically, the only time I've ever been free of gut pain is during pregnancy. I could (and did) eat anything because I had never had such epicurean freedom. Post-partum is an entirely different story, of which this story begins. After having each of my children, I was put on a very strict no dairy, no soy, no gluten diet because my system was on overload trying to feed the babies and keep myself functioning. It was agonizingly hard, but at that time, Devin worked at Whole Foods and our access to a variety of elimination friendly food was endless. Fast forward ten years and I found myself at the doctors too much for intestinal issues. I've been tested for every kind of food allergy and nothing comes up; however, I am extremely sensitive to gluten, dairy, and cabbages. My doctor sat me down and suggested not another elimination diet, but rather a lifestyle switch, beginning with a full month body cleanse. No added sugar, no added salt, no grains, no alcohol, and no dairy. Now, let me tell you, I went into this with reservations because giving up dairy is not an easy thing. My husband, after all, is a cheese man. Cheese pays our mortgage, puts food on the table, and is one of our favorite foods. And the alcohol. I am not dependent on it, by any means, I rarely have more than a glass, but it is part of our nightly meals, just like bread might be for other families. But, I knew in my heart (and stomach), I had to do this. 

One major reason I had to was the relation to my mood and food. Gluten makes me grumpy. I know it sounds weird, but it effects my mental well-being and right now, the grief is enough to juggle on it's own, never mind any other mood altering triggers. There is a ton of research done on this, as I was a bit skeptical when I was talking to my doctor about depression rearing it's persistent head a bit more than I'm comfortable with, and I can honestly say, not eating gluten, dairy, and/or processed foods has nearly diminished this problem. Now, I'm not going to lie, this is tough sh**. The first two days of this cleanse, my body went into major sugar withdraws. I mean major. Aching headaches, sick stomach, and voracious cravings. Although my body wanted just a nibble of Halloween candy, my will was--surprisingly--resolute. We (because my husband is amazingly supportive and doing this with me) are two weeks in and I feel like a million bucks. Seriously. I've cheated a few times, a glass of wine with friends one night, Thai food (all gluten free!) with family another night, but I'm okay with it because my body isn't working on overdrive to survive. Yes, the box of cheeze-its call my name sometimes, always whispers at night when I'm convincing myself the almond butter, banana, and coconut mash up is a divine dessert, but all in all, I've never felt better. It's not about losing weight for me, I've accepted that my body has changed from the svelt 125 lb 25 year old, and I'm good in my skin right now. I'm finding as I get older, I ignore the numbers on the scale, but gage how I feel as a whole person. When I'm overly sad, I eat badly; it's a hard process but I'm channelling that desire to transform into sitting in the sad, rather than distract it with crap food. Sometimes that means with a book, other times it is on my yoga mat. I've spent a lot of time taking care of others and I'm now focused more on taking care of me. It's a hard thing, as it really is not a supported notion for us women, but I'm demanding better for myself, starting with my grocery cart. 

 

A Final Farewell

 

 

 

 

I've avoided this space of mine for a couple of weeks because sometimes words get stuck in my throat when life is too raw. I found out that I will not be receiving Simon's ashes because I am not technically his "next of kin", although I am the beneficiary on everything and am the only person he has left. I've really struggled through this grieving process simply because the bureacratic mess it has become has left little time to do much else than plow through. However, finding out that I could not complete his final wishes, was the last straw for me.

To say these past couple of months have been hard is an utterly gross understatement. I've been dealing with deputies and lawyers and there has been little time to tend to the infectious wound of grief festering inside my heart. I finally had to accept the fact that there are some things in life, that no matter how hard you try, are just going to be unfair. This experience being just that. I am forever an optimist and after two good days of some serious gray days filled with sobs, I just let it all go. Releasing all that anger, frustration, regret and disappointment was very tough but also very cathartic.

I am, finally, at peace with all of this. It is not what I imagined, but it is the reality. I am never one to shirk away from strife, so I've accepted this and rather than focus on the negativity, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I called my mum and told her my idea of having an intimate, personal service on the beach for Simon. She agreed and the night before, insomnia and anxiety kept sleep at bay and I came up with something both meaningful to Simon, myself, and my mum. I gathered rocks on the beach and for every rock, I wrote something about him, and my mum and I silently stood on the beach.

A rock for the first time I met you, when I was 8 and you broke a tooth at dinner

A rock for the first time I left at Christmas time, in a limousine, your idea

A rock for the time I gave you a please stop smoking sign and you and Mum tried your best

A rock for the hours we spent driving on Sundays

A rock for the love, the support, and the spoiling of my mother and I

A rock for showing us both the meaning of true, unconditional love

A rock for the hundreds of lazy Sundays reading the paper

A rock for the time I procrastinated on my Science Fair project, you drove me all over town in one day, helped me with the presentation and was there shaking your head when I won first prize. You did love a good ironic story

A rock for the million of times I doubted myself in fear and insecurity and you pushed me, even when I cried, and was there to say I told you so when I beamed in completion and triumph

A rock for the million more times you told me I could do anything I put my mind to and the love to make me believe it

A rock for the times we went to get manicures together

A rock for your man purse, deemed “murse” by my husband

A rock for the Christmas dinners at the Ritz

A rock for teaching me to ride a bike, drive a car, and parallel park in San Francisco

A rock for teaching me, through your story and your parents story ,what sacrifice, determination, and faith really means

A rock for the time you handed me the keys to my first car, a 1986 VW Cabriolet and a new pair of sunglasses

A rock for the appreciation of music, of food, and of the arts

A rock for the pride that shone on your face when I graduated high school and the pain expressed when you dropped me off at college

A rock for the Sundays you came to visit me in college, the shared brunches, and the silent walks alongside the water

A rock for the relaxed way you twirled your curls, gently wrapped around your index finger and thumb

A rock for the love of fast cars you instilled in me

A rock for the time you bought me a hot wheels race track instead of a Barbie dollhouse like my friends, because you knew I wanted the race track more than the Barbie

A rock for the Friday night dinners at Peppino’s

A rock for your loud laugh, your sarcastic wit, and your aloof kindness to strangers

A rock for the countless times you handed a homeless person a dollar

A rock for the ritual bedtime send off “Bedtime for Bonzo” and the whisper of “Love you, Monkey”

A rock for the sorrow I felt watching you care for your ailing mother and the sad relief when she passed

A rock for the love that oozed through the phone when I called you when Ava was born, on your birthday, and the promise you made me make that I would never again buy you a birthday present

A rock for the moment you met Ava, the calm that swam over her when you held her, and the tears that streamed down your face

A rock for the bathrobe you owned as long as I knew you…and that you died in

A rock for the dance we shared at my wedding and your acceptance of such a hard decision

A rock for the love and appreciation of my husband

A rock for your adoration of the ocean

A rock for your Chicago memories, a city we visit yearly, this year, you will be right by my side

A rock for your intense political beliefs

A rock for the dresser drawer full of cards and letters I sent you, you never threw away a single one

A rock for the poems I found after you died

A rock for your love of dogs and our dog, whom you let me name Heineken

A rock that you two are enjoying a walk together, wherever you may be

A rock for the hope that you died in peace and knowing how much I loved you

A rock for the peace I’m slowly finding in this complicated situation

A rock for the intense love I feel every time I think of you

 

Lastly, a rock for the serenity to let you go because I know my desperate attempt to make sense of all of this is pointless. Life doesn’t make sense. It is like this beach, constantly changing with the high and low tides of life, made up of pebbles of pain, rocks of joy, shards of worn down memories like sea glass, and the bittersweet salty taste of sorrow. With my toes curled in the sand, reaching my heavy hands high in the air, I toss the rocks into the sea, where you would want to be, and with each rock, I say good-bye.  Simon, today my heart empties of sadness and I relinquish the pain, anger, regret, and frustration that surrounds your death.  Today, I celebrate your life and the life we shared together. Today, I hand you over to the sea.

 

 

 

Because, my friends, this was not just a loss for me, it was a loss for my mum. Despite years of separation, Simon and my mum still remained friends. He was a constant in our life, he shared in the happiest moments but also sheltered us in the darkest ones. I share this grief with my mum today. We stood on the beach, not sure how to even properly say good-bye. I had a song cued up, we plugged in our ear buds, listened to Sia's Burn the Pages, and cried.  When I opened my eyes, out on the horizon, there was a lone sailboat, slowly heading out to sea. This was my peace, my friends. Sail on, Simon.

 

 

 

Lesson Learned: Friends are a Necessity

I am, admittedly, a very shy person upon first introduction. I do not go out of my way to make new friends until I am 100% comfortable. That being said, I've learned that in order to evade insanity, a mama needs some friends. Not just people to hang out with, but people to share, to cry, to laugh, to empathize, to eat, to drink, to commiserate, and to come together without judgement. Ladies are awful to fellow ladies, this is something our culture ingrains in us early on but, I truly feel sharing the joys and the drudgery of motherhood has the potential to break these judgemental barriers. If only we let ourselves let go of expectation, judgement, and insecurity.  Who cares how other parents are feeding, diapering, or sleeping; we are all covered in food bits, wiping bottoms, and lacking sleep, no matter which method is being used. 

With the birth of each child, I was lucky enough to find supportive communities of parents. With the girls, I found a community parenting network within walking distance from our apartment in the city. They held play groups and community events in which people of all different backgrounds came together amongst a sea of loud, messy, adorable children. I met one of my dearest friends, who I can reach out to at any time, even with months of not speaking and know I am not judged, but loved for who I am. 

When I was pregnant with Oliver, I joined an on-line local mother's group through Meetup and it was one of the best decisions I ever made. I found a group of like minded parents, some of which are great harbors in the storm life can become. Again, I do not feel judged for the occasional bag of Doritos my kids devour or the choices Devin and I make as parents. 

And, as the last picture above illustrates, it is not only important for me to have friends for my survival, but it is also important to introduce my children to these lovely adults. This picture is a favorite of mine from yesterday because it shows how engaged and interested the girls were in my friend's discussion. I want the kiddos to know that the more diverse friends you have, the richer your life. 

To those women whom I treasure for your advice, your laughter, your understanding, and your encouragement, thank you so very much for enriching my life with your presence and friendship.

 

 

Asking for Help

Photo credit via Pinterest

To say the world is saddened by Robin William's death is an unneccassary understatement. I, too, am deeply moved by his untimely passing, it is always tough to see such a bright flame flicker into oblivion. However, what has left me empty and thinking all day today is the idea of help in our culture. So many of us need it, whether it be to take the kids for an hour or professional help to get through tough times. Although we all know this, there is something about us that makes it hard to ask, as if we carry a veil of shame in the need to do so. Why is that? Why are we so determined to be the best all of the time? And why does help lessen our character or weaken our strength?

My heart breaks for the depths of despair this talented man was waging through; so bad that he sought relief in death. It saddens me even more to know that so many millions of people suffer this same depression every single day and because we've been fed this malarky to "just get through it", the suffering only increases ten fold.

This is hard for me to write about, but I've struggled with depression for six years now. Upon losing the babies in 2008, I sunk into a very deep, dark hole. There were mornings that I could not get out of bed, quite literally. My body ached with sadness, my mind clouded with hurt, and it was very hard for me to fight these demons when I felt like I should just get over it. But, as anyone tells you that suffers from depression, there is no moving on, getting over it; it is more getting through it. However, it requires work and help. For me, my little family was my help. There were days I could enjoy every moment, others I could not bear another. One day, an eighteen month old Pippa, laid next me in bed, raised her head and put her finger on my face. Staring intensely at me, she said, "Sad mama." If my eighteen month old could recognize my sadness, my need for extra love, then I, too, had to do the same. I had to let myself need the help, the extra hugs, the community around me. 

Although the onset of my depression was due to grief, it is not always that way. I still struggle with it on a monthly basis; there is no predicting it, avoiding it, or ignoring it. I have to let myself just be in it and find comfort in whatever I need in the moment. This is not easy but I know in order to avoid continued  hurt, panic attacks, or deeper dips, I have to let go of unrealistic expectations and admit that I need help. That help may be an extra hug from the kids, an hour of uninterrupted reading in my room, medicine, and/or talking to a professional. 

I hope Robin Williams life will be remembered not for the struggles he lost, but rather for the laughs he delivered, the warmth his light brought into someone's darkness. I've heard so many people say to try to be more kind, recognize that we all fight internal battles, and never underestimate the power of compassion. With everything, I want to believe that people will do just that, even for a day.

"Always be more kinder than necessary." ~J.M. Barrie

Lesson Learned: Taking a Break

 

Don't get me wrong, I love summer. The long, warm nights, the days at the beach, the lack of structure and routine, really I do love every minute of it. However, about this time every year, I feel suffocated a bit. I adore my kids, but sometimes, especially when we are together all day, everyday, I need a break. This has been a very busy summer, in all the right ways, but I'm a bit out of sorts, feeling like life is moving and I'm left behind trying to catch up. So, I declared yesterday a daddy day and I happily had very little planned but to spend time with myself. 

The morning started off at my writer's group, which the above picture beautifully captured our inspiring meeting place. This group, all of writing mamas, is my sanctity on so many levels. It forces me to do what I love surrounded by some amazing women whom I adore.

After writer's group, I headed to one of my favorite hiking spots. It was oddly wonderful and weird to hike alone. Just to have the quiet moments to myself to think, ruminate, and ponder through such a landscape was just what I needed. The mosquitoes, however, I could have done without, but a little reminder that not everything can be perfect.

I drove home the long way, slowly along the ocean, listening to the music I like, stopped off at my favorite thrift store, found some treasures then headed home. It doesn't sound glamorous, but I spent the rest of the day cleaning my house, from top to bottom. Cleaning is not my favorite thing to do, but I love a clean house very much. I read an article a few years back over at Apartment Therapy about how to maximize cleaning time by just doing it, but in a way you love. So, I've always followed suit with that: yesterday, I put in an book on CD and listened to the entire thing as I cleaned. It was so much more enjoyable scrubbing my bathroom that way!

I've learned through the years that it is okay--no it is necessary--to need a break from your kids. It doesn't make you less of a mother, but rather, it makes you a better one because you are being honest about your needs. It can be an walk in the woods or a weekend away, but regardless, it is acceptable and commendable to revel in being alone and/or being away from your kiddos. Just like you need a break from them, they need a break from you, too. And I promise, coming back together, you are refreshed, recharged, and renewed. 

Lesson Learned: Encouraging Sibling Love, Not Forcing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This week, Pippa, our dear middle child spent 6 hours a day at soccer camp. Now, to be honest, I was a bit nervous about this week, not for her, but rather for her siblings. Pippa is the classic middle child, trying to make everyone happy, playing with everyone, and quite frequently, the peacemaker between her brother and sister. That being said, I had great intentions of making this week in her absence a week of bonding for Bea and Oliver. However, I learned that you cannot force love between siblings, no matter how hard you try.

What I thought would be a great week, turned out being horrid. I felt like I needed a referee shirt, breaking up fights every five minutes for three days. Two days of rain certainly did not help, either, forcing us inside, which is never a good combination for these two kiddos. My eldest and youngest are so much alike, it is crazy. However, it is their similarities that drive them apart. They are rigid, sensitive, and reactive kids. I liken it to the mountain sheep you see butting heads, pushing, fighting with all their might on a rocky ledge.  On Wednesday night, I had a breakdown in front of both of them and it seemed to rattle them a bit. We all went to bed with heavy hearts and I had to do some serious mama reflection about my behavior and intentions.

I must admit this whole sibling thing is rather new to me. I was an only child until I was 19 and I adore my siblings. I did not have to share my space, my things, or my parents with anyone growing up and I guess, I had this idea of what siblings would look like when planning our family. As usual, what I imagined was so off base, but also our reality, I know is very normal. I know siblings will fight, scream, and hurt each other, believe me, I've learned that. But what was going on was a bit deeper than that. My eldest and youngest both thought the other one did not like them as people. When we finally hashed that out at the breakfast table, it seemed like the air got a bit lighter. All this drama was based around perception and in a way, fear. As much as I wanted them to reconnect this week, I knew it had to be done on their own terms, not on mine. Maybe it would not happen this week, or this year, but hearing them both apologize to each other and say "I love you" and hug was enough for me.

And you know what? The rest of the week was great. I planned activities that pleased both of them but also gave them their own space, like bike rides and park trips. There was opportunity for shared play, but also individual time. It was rather amazing that when I stepped back, they stepped up.

 

Lesson Learned: Raising a Sensitive Boy

This boy of mine is full of energy and fearless on the sports field or the playground; however, he is also very sensitive. I don't mean sensitive in the sense that his feelings get hurt easily, but rather, he is sensitive to his environment. He cannot handle loud noises, crowds, or extremes of any sort like extreme heat in the summer or frigid temps in the winter. Why am I sharing this, you may ask? I'm sharing this because this is not my only child like this and I've made mistakes with the other that I did not make with him. And, to be frank, I saw a version of my former myself trying to push a child to do something they did not want to do and it rattled me a bit. It rattled me because seeing my former self and it trudged up some thoughts about living with a sensitive child.

To start, I have to say that I am a proponent of encouraging my child, and at times, pushing them. This builds character and I know the little upset in the beginning outweighs the enormous triumph in the end. However, I've also learned, at the cost of my children, that pushing them when they are not ready or capable, only brings heartache for all involved. There were many times I did not pick up on the fear, mistrust, and inability to regulate their emotions in situations. For example, the carousal. Oliver absolutely refuses to go on one. In the past, I would have cajoled, persuaded, and quite possibly, put a screaming child on the ornate horse. Because, really, how does a child not like a carousal?! But, the screaming never stopped, it ruined the 60 second ride for everyone, and it left me feeling horrible as a mother. 

The other day, as I watched a well intentioned mother yank her child aboard the carousal, I realized how much of my former behavior was not related to my childs' needs, but rather to that of my own. I wanted both of them to experience a carousal ride at the cost of their own discomfort. I did not want to be the mother holding the fearful child outside of the gate watching my other child enjoy the ride. I did not want my kid to be the scared one. My aha moment with all of this was one day when we were in a crowded playspace and I watched my child start to twitch, sweat, and shake. It did not matter that there was an awesome bouncy house, balance beam, and rope swing; what mattered, was the inability to enjoy themselves because they were so overwhelmed. Yes, I wanted them to get out energy and have a blast, but not at the cost of their own dignity. They were terrified and out of control of their senses, they were not scared.

But, here's the thing: there is a HUGE difference between scared and sensitive. Being scared can be soothed quickly in the situation; being sensitive is an overload of intake on the brain. I've witnessed it many times with many panic attacks and I'm now resolute in letting my children do things when they're ready. Like I said, I will always encourage them, but not to feed my own needs, to feed theirs. 

And, this will, I'm sure, ruffle some feathers, but it needs to be said: it is hard raising a boy who struggles with this. Yes, things are changing in society, I recognize and celebrate that, however, there is still an undertone of grave judgment for a boy who is sensitive. There have been many times when I get eye rolls or sighs when my little man cannot let go of my hand in a new situation or cannot bring himself to step into the arcade because of the noise. It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces but I constantly remind myself that his sensitivity does not define him as less of a boy. With patience, guidance, and encouragement, we are raising him to be himself, whatever that means to him, not to others.  

**This post did not come from a place of judgement on other parents, but rather watching other parents' struggles, inspired me to share my own. I am rather fierce in my belief that we are all much too judgemental in regards to parenting. We need to focus on lifting each other up by sharing our faults, struggles, and frustrations, rather than create a super parent ideal that is superficial and impossible to obtain. Hence, I've created this new category on the blog, Lesson Learned, where I will share the good and moreso, the bad moments of parenting with hopes of someone finding a connection and feeling less isolated in their struggle.***