Self-Care as a Sport

“Self-neglect is not a virtue. Love is about becoming - not betraying - yourself.”

— Alok Vaid-Menon

Before I started this parenthood gig, I was the world’s greatest self-carer. I had it down to a science and no stone was left unturned. I benefitted from being in the health and wellness world for 5 years so it was literally my job to know all the new super foods and crystals, the hottest movement discipline, the latest research on your brain when you meditate.

I got lost in it. It’s easy to. I am quite competitive with myself and always want to continue to improve, to a fault. With doing all the self-care, it ended up being no self-care. Because when you actually, really care, there has to be some feedback on what you really need. And it can’t just be all the crystals. We love, as Westerners, to use Eastern medicine like…. well, Westerners. More [insert wellness trend] HAS to equal more health! Turns out that’s probably not always true? And you have to kind of know yourself and what you need?

Listening to yourself is hard and subjective and takes a lot of practice. But it’s what I’ve been learning to do these past few months of living.

I wanted someone to tell me about how becoming a mother isn’t about not having time because you’re actually really busy: becoming a mother breaks all sense of time for yourself. And the world doesn’t help. I have seen at minimum 2,410 mom bloggers that talk about the best way to [ insert anything] but no one actually talks about how to be a person after you become a mom. So we’re left to read between the lines, which is: becoming a mom means to forget yourself completely.

And the easiest thing in the world is to fall in line and become your favorite sitcom mom: even if you work full time, perfection is the goal and less than isn’t acceptable. We must look flawless for our partners and full of love for our kids ALL THE TIME. And you know, shower and eat when you can!

This is especially triggering for moms that had a traumatic childhood. Anything less than all the love all the time and you risk giving your kids the worst childhood.

Except none of that is true.

I fell into this trap of just being a mom and working. That’s it. A lot of this started in COVID and continues, but there are subtle ways to reclaim my life that I have ignored because it’s easier. It’s really hard to accept that we live in a world where the default culture is placing invisible labor on women. We are a malnourished society because we have devalued women from the beginning. How does the economy still keep chugging along when childcare still isn’t affordable? Because we’ve all decided that this is “just what being a mom” is.

This is “just what being a woman looks like.”

On some level, we’ve all accepted this to be true. And now we’re faced with the fact that we’ve all gotten used to women doing it all. We should be thankful that (most of the time) we get to shower and eat, literally what is provided in prison, and we’re supposed to call that self-care. Nah, that’s basic needs. I think I’m finally ready to reclaim my time, the time everyone else gets to think and feel and process and move and enjoy life.

I’ve stopped following all these parenting Instagram accounts (ads) that pretend to be real humans (that’s a marketing trick: you’ve heard it here from your fellow director of marketing) and start really looking into what I want out of my life. Not anyone else’s. I didn’t become a mom to give up my life for someone else’s: I became a mom to share it. But if I don’t have a life, what are we sharing? What do I actually have to give, pass along?

I started going to the gym and rearranged my days to make that work. Not because I want to be down to a size whatever, but because it feels good. I started keeping a food journal again and noticed when I eat sugar all day every day, I feel terrible. So I started incorporating other foods again, making time to think about what I want to eat and no one else. Not because I want to be down to a size whatever, but because it makes me happier. I started going to yoga again because it’s one of the best ways for me to relax and move. Not because I’m trying to become a yoga instructor, but just because it makes me feel good and it helps me sleep.

And today I skied. Skiing teaches me so much about myself. It’s instant bio feedback. It floats my fears and worries to the top and sprinkles in a healthy amount of fun and vitamin D and failure. It’s both pleasure and reflection. It’s flow. And when I ski, I come home and I do better, focused work.

No skiing = less writing, less productivity at work. See what I’m getting at? Pleasure and fun isn’t a bonus you get for working hard: it’s a necessity to living a full, well-rounded life. It’s part of all of it. It’s how we get to the next level of where ever we want to go. Otherwise, what’s the actual point?

Self care isn’t showering. It isn’t feeding yourself. It’s real moments that nourish your life. It’s going skiing on a Monday with your best friend. It’s going to the gym by yourself. It’s making sure that these things that HAVE BEEN BRANDED AS AND feel like extra, selfish things, are treated like sacred time, just as important as basic needs. Because they are. Anyone that tells you otherwise is a person that either directly benefits from you being home all the time with your kids or wants you to buy something they are selling.

I’m not an expert. I’m going to struggle with not being home on Wednesday night to tuck my kid into bed. But I do know that Thursday morning I’m going to feel like a whole new person (and mom) because I went to yoga. And that’s the mom that this kid deserves. And that’s the Sarah that I deserve. Because even if I sit on the couch my whole life, hard times still come. The least I can do is make the good times better.

Dinner at Jose's

“The dance of renewal, the dance that made the world, was always danced at the edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast.”

— Ursula K. Le Guin

Hey everyone. Y’all ok over there? Reading my last post, I realized that we’re coming up on two years of Covid. It has felt like 5. I don’t share this shock and awe that Penn is two because this time has felt like a decade. Isn’t he in middle school yet? Am I retired? I don’t understand time.

But things have felt way more normal than last year, except I still don’t feel okay. I have struggled with what we’ve all struggled with and I like to hide behind the fact that I’m a mom and I work full time. In true sancti-mommy style. I just don’t have time for myself. Which is a total lie: I don’t make time. Instead of dealing with myself, I make homemade chia pudding and scroll through Pinterest trying to figure out how I can be the best mom and in turn, the worst Sarah.

I didn’t realize this had happened until I went to Jose’s house for his twin son’s birthday party. Paul has been friends with Jose since he first started working at the hospital nearly 8 years ago. Jose’s parties are always epic. Picture a perfect marriage between your grandma’s house and Friendsgiving. It’s all there: warmth, ease, incredible food, music, laughter, wine. But really, it’s the people.

It wasn’t long before I started making small talk with Jose’s cousin, Jessica. She was in from Napa and has four kids and we talked potty training and daycare and two year olds. We laughed and told stories about our kids, but it was hard to let Penn just “play.” I worry about all the stuff: is he sharing? Is he going to jump off the deck? Is he playing with an open flame? Is he yelling at someone that touched the mountain of cookies that he claimed for himself in conquistador fashion? Is he annoying everyone?

Jessica sensed my unease. And then she said this. “He’s fine, you know. He’s having fun. He’s safe here.”

And I teared up. She was right. I made myself stop chasing him around and I just watched. Every time he thought about darting out the door, an older lady would stand in front of it and smile. Every time he dashed towards the deck stairs on a car, someone would run after him. Every time he got possessive about the cookies, someone would distract him with a cowboy hat. And something in me relaxed. My jaw softened. I said yes to wine. I watched all of these family members get a kick of out of my kid. They laughed with him and patted him on the head. He wasn’t a burden: he was a joy.

Glennon Doyle and probably others? have written about how fear is the opposite of love, and controlling our kids comes out of fear, not love. What am I doing when I’m trying to control his every move? Yes, to an extent, he’s a toddler and he has and will injure himself. But this huge weight came off my shoulders when I realized that I hyperfocus on him so I don’t have to focus on myself. And also, crap, I should probably think about myself sometimes. Eyeroll.

IT IS EASY to focus on being a mom above all else. It’s like literally walking into a sitcom and playing that character. This is how it is. This is life. This is parenthood. We’re all miserable but we dodge those icky feelings with Target runs and Starbucks. Why do I feel this way all the time? BECAUSE! I work FULL TIME and also I have a TODDLER and also I make PUDDING from SCRATCH (listen, I just want you to know that I make a lot of pudding). I was just fitting in. In fact, this behavior is encouraged. Social media spreads it around like wildfire: all this sanctimonious text about how women sacrifice and men are just supposed to appreciate it, pray to the mommy statue, and move on. As if we just need to be appreciated. That’s it. That’s all. We can still run on empty, just acknowledge that we’re empty, please.

In my own house. we’ve all decided that mommy is in charge of most things. I have taken this on whole-heartedly because it fed my ego and need to be the best mom in the universe. But the mental energy it takes to remember if we’re low on almond milk, to call the dentist, to sign up for the Halloween school potluck, to sort through his old clothes, to meal plan for the week, could break me. It does. I cry and move on. I have decided that I don’t have time to think about it. Because this is how it is.

I have always thrived in renewals. Sign me up for all the transformations. New Years Eve. The new seasons. Back to school. The ritual of starting over. In this season in my life, renewals hit me across the face. They are the opposite of subtle. I don’t have them on my calendar. Alarm bells ring in my ear and things come into focus.

I got it all wrong: I cannot afford to overlook myself. I have been distracted by thinking being an “amazing” mom is agonizing over snacks and clothes and haircuts and houses. These are easy solutions because they are just things you can buy. But you cannot commodify personal growth, you just have to do the work. Penn deserves a mom that shows up for herself. That means I’m also showing up for him. He’d be fine eating store bought pudding if that means mom went to yoga. How can I teach him to trust his gut if I forgot how to listen to mine? I need that space: to figure out how I feel, to honor the fact that I feel deeply, to process and reflect and change. Not because I earned it, but because I cannot afford not to. Keeping him “safe” in an already safe space is telling myself a story, keeping myself busy so I don’t have to look at me.

I’m not really sure what the take away is. I know I need to let go, but it’s going to be a slow, excruciating process of unlearning all the lessons I’ve inherited and absorbed on what it is to be a mother. There is a piece that involves letting go that feels so incredibly uncomfortable and unnatural. But I know it’s about trust. It’s trusting that as he ages, he needs to learn, at times, on his own. It’s trusting that he’s forming relationships outside our nuclear family that only adds to his life. It’s trusting that, at some point, I’ve done everything I can do and he deserves to have the space to live his life. And what a relief it will be to someday trust and know that this is the only way forward.

I woke up Sunday morning feeling immensely grateful for my family and everyone in my life. My house. My job. My friends. My future. And I truly think it’s because I went to Jose’s and let a stranger (now a friend) tell me to chill. And I had a really great time and my kid stayed alive (and thrived). And maybe that’s all I really need right now: more chances to practice letting go.

Normal Wasn't Working

“Life is so much shorter than we think. Make your art. Take care of each other. Risk everything for joy.”

— Chani Nicholas

Pop quiz: When we distill life down into very simple terms, what is illuminated?

Before the quarantine, I felt like my life was one big to do list. Every day, the list grew. I was so focused on crossing tasks out that I forgot what it felt like to have unstructured, restorative time for myself and for my family. Looking back, rushing through play time or breakfast leaves me gutted. Sure, it was out of necessity, but have I been building a life that I’m proud of?

A global pandemic forced the world to pause and put my life on hold. Real talk: it broke my brain. The collective grief of it all, the weight of it, the heaviness, sent me into panic. What would we do if one of us got sick? How are others coping with the lack of employment, mental health necessities, connecting with others when living alone? After days of spiraling and consuming way too much social media and the 24 hour news cycle, it was clear that I needed a shift in perspective. This was my chance to press reset. Simplify. What can I do immediately to deal with my anxiety? I focused on what was in front of me. I zoomed in on my immediate family. This time would be all about taking care of Penn and taking care of myself. I am resilient beyond reason. Given any sort of adversity, I eventually figure out how to thrive. This is no exception. Now, we have time to make dinner together every night. We’re all sleeping better. We’re napping. We’re exercising. We’re working on creative pursuits. We’re taking family hikes. We’re organizing our house.

We’re thriving.

I feel an immense sense of guilt saying that out loud, but this time alone with my family has illuminated parts of me that I have had to leave behind to get by. I’ve gone back to what works for me: yoga, nourishing healthy food, solitude, nature, very strict social media and news consumption limits, and a lot of emotional work. This was the way life was back west. A return to what was familiar has felt so good. My emotional, physical, mental needs are being met in ways that have not been in a long time.

My privilege directly contributes to this time being therapeutic instead of damaging. Having time off without the expectation of work while still receiving a paycheck is rare. Having a baby who loves a schedule helps me stay in somewhat of a routine. Having a baby who loves to nap 2-3 hours during the day gives me time to practice yoga, practice my French, nap, cook, watch tv, do nothing, get to know myself again and plug into what makes me better. I am extremely lucky. I know that not everyone has received this gift.

What makes this time difficult is the notion that it took a worldwide crisis to get to where I am. On a micro level, I’m just starting to make sense of what works and what doesn’t. How can this be applied nationally? Globally? I haven’t a clue, but I do know that normal wasn’t working. There will be no return to “normal.” We can’t go back. But how can we wrestle with a future that is so incredibly uncertain?

Chani Nicholas always shares incredible words for hard times. This time is no different. Three rules that I have started to practice with fervor. I encourage you to do the same.

1. Make your art. My brother always told me I was a much better artist than I thought I was. Art doesn’t have to make any sense and it doesn’t need to be perfect or beautiful. My analytical brain gets in the way of making lately. When I let go and make art as a release, it helps. If you don’t have a medium, what did you do as a kid that made you happy? What can you make a neighbor, your parents, your nieces/nephews? Origami? A hand turkey? A paper bag puppet? Friendship bracelets? Maybe you just color or doodle. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I have decided that I’m going to practice guitar again and write daily. None of it has to make sense, or sound good. Just the act of creating is therapy.

2. Take care of each other. I have found that the best way to combat depression is to focus on others that have less than I do. What can I do to support my family and friends that are struggling but also not compromising my needs as well? I’m sending notes in the mail and checking in regularly with my inner circle. If I have nothing emotionally to give but I am doing well financially, where can I donate money? If I have absolutely nothing, how can I ask for help? Politically, how can we build social programs that ensure the most vulnerable are taken care of? Now is the time to ask what we can do and then go and DO IT. Sometimes it just means taking care of ourselves and our family. That is more than enough. (<—Read that again.)

3. Risk everything for joy. Everything. Mental health is so important to take care of right now. Besides consuming foods that make you feel good (equal parts kale and chocolate?) and moving our bodies to help us wring out the stress of the day (dance, walk around the block), checking in with yourself and how you’re feeling makes a difference.

If you’re feeling stuck, starting a gratitude list is really wonderful. Besides your friends and family, what do you love? This could be fresh cut grass, the rain, simple things that you can observe that makes you smile. One of my favorites from Paul’s list was “watching someone get lost in a daydream.”

If you’re feeling confused about the future, consider a Life Audit. We do this every few years. Get out a stack of post its or several scrap pieces of paper, whatever you have that you can eventually sort into piles. On each piece of paper, write a wish or finish the prompt, “I want…” What do you want? This can be anything! I want the quarantine to end. I want to learn French. I want to fly a kite. Wish for as long as you have paper or time. Then, start sorting into categories. Learning French goes under “New Skill.” Flying a kite goes under “Hobbies.” End quarantine goes under “Social/Lifestyle.” When you’re done sorting, note where the majority of your wishes land. This helps you understand where in your life you are lacking. Optionally, you can start to work towards your goals if they’re attainable during quarantine.

Finally, a lot of emotions can come up when the world is focused on so much grief and anxiety. I worked through this doing a practice called “Descansos.” “In Latin America, they are the roadside shrines that mark the memory where an accident claimed a life.  Metaphorically we can also view them as crossroads, choice points, places where you choose one road and might have taken another.

Conducting your own ‘descansos’ is a way to document, honor, and grieve those individual deaths along the way – and leave them where they are meant to be left – in the past, honored, acknowledged, and on a road already taken in your life. These deaths can be wrong turns, lost opportunities, broken hearts, trauma or disappointment that you've experienced on your journey.” You can read more about this here.

We are all experiencing a new way to live. It can be uncomfortable when everything we used to distract ourselves from ourselves is no longer within reach. We’re forced to look at our lives up close, sometimes without a social safety net or those that we love around us. But for some of us, those with our basic needs being met, this can be a time of great awakening, tuning into what best serves us and what no longer can survive. What is sustainable and what needs to be grieved? What do you keep and what do you throw away?

Have I been building a life that I’m proud of? No. Although I have so much, an incredible partner, an equally incredible son, a wonderfully supportive family and social circle, a fulfilling career, a warm house, the list continues, I am lacking in time spent with my family and time to focus on my mental and physical health. The foundation of our lives, our wellbeing, has suffered so much that it will take more than a quarantine to repair what we have been neglecting. A patchwork of fulfilling family moments peppered in between a never ending schedule of social obligations and late work nights feels so out of balance. It’s unsustainable. It’s damaging. It’s not the life we want to lead.

What do you keep and what do you throw away?

Normal wasn’t working. Risk everything for joy.

Altitude Adjustments

I spent 6 years at 6,250 ft above sea level. I remember taking day trips to the valley and feeling like a superhuman, soaking up all that extra oxygen. Spending too much time at sea level took away our super powers and we spent days re-acclimating. In a lot of ways, I felt this descension hard, not just in breathing (a rush of oxygen! everything is new! Wheee! and then, whoa.), but in an abrupt change in every aspect of our lives since we moved back to Ohio mid-May. We’re parents, we’ve both started new careers, we’re both eating too much cheese. We’ve lost a lot and we’ve gained a lot. Our families are close, Target is close, certain things are more affordable, and gas is half the price. The family farm is 15 minutes away and lunch with my grandma is priceless. The fresh produce is addicting. Our son has so many cousins, we are so loved by all of our friends and family members, all within 30 minutes. I fell into a career I’m so incredibly excited to dig into. We’ve lost access to backpacking out our front door, skiing in 5 minutes, a culture aimed at spending as much time outside free of humidity and poison ivy and mosquitos, 300+ sunny days a year, small town life with friendly post masters, hardware store owners, coffee shop friends, our incredible mountain family, surrounded by one of the most photographed lakes on Earth, surrounded by people constantly taking risks, rolling the dice personally and professionally.

Balance is subjective.

The Midwest is comfortable. Not the weather per se (weather jokes!), but as evidenced by the ubiquity of La-Z-Boy recliners and the amount of butter on everything, comfort is king. I say this anecdotally, but I also think this spills into the culture of the Midwest, especially when it comes to work. The professional code is that if you find a “good” job (one with benefits and decent pay), you stick your toe in the floor, pour cement around your foot, and stay past retirement age. Buy a house to grow old in. And do it all fresh out of college.

I didn’t do any of this. After three years of teaching in Toledo, I burned out and moved across the country. I didn’t heed the advice of my Midwest upbringing of staying in one place. I hopped around professionally, taking freelance editing jobs, working for a pest control company, tutoring winter athletes/Olympic hopefuls, writing copy for a handful of health and wellness companies and start ups in the Bay Area. Tahoe culture pushed me out of my comfort zone in every single way. It reprogrammed my “comfort zone” Midwest brain. I shaved my head and quit jobs I didn’t want to do anymore, without a plan or a back up. Skiing helped immensely. It constantly asked me to be brave and being surrounded by others who pushed past their fears taught me that fear shouldn’t be a deterrent, but motivation. Backpacking taught me self-reliance and finding comfort in the uncomfortable. I did a ton of scary things in the six years out there.

And I never want to stop pushing myself into the unknown.

Being 7 months pregnant and giving up my beautiful mountain life that I loved so much was tough. I still pause and really think through the question everyone inevitably asks, “Why in the world did you move back?” It’s complicated. I thought I knew what we were heading back to, but in reality, Toledo has changed so much since we’ve lived here, more than we were able to fully understand during holiday visits. There is a vibrancy, a revitalization, and with that includes people that care about where Toledo is headed, that truly love where they are.

That love is contagious.

In 10 days, I officially start my new career as a children’s librarian. The culmination of teaching, loving books, and my forever longing of improving a community through arts, culture, nature, and technology, has led me to this incredible opportunity to plug into. The branch I’ve been assigned to is in the neighborhood I grew up in. My mom, brother, and I would drag our wooden Radio Flyer wagon to the West Toledo Branch and load up on books. My first library card was a flimsy blue and white piece of plastic with my name spelled carefully in cursive. I learned to spell my name on walks to the library as my mom would make up spelling songs to teach us our unique French surname. I entered the cookie baking contest every year, nearly always winning with her fail safe chocolate chip recipe that I was never allowed to share. We always worked our way through summer reading challenges with that wagon full of books, forever finding new corners of our house on Berdan to fold into and read. In 2nd grade, I couldn’t put down Shel Silverstein’s, “Where The Sidewalk Ends,” and my mother encouraged this behavior by allowing me to lie in bed, perfectly healthy, for two days straight, sending up food to my room until I emerged blurry eyed and mesmerized. I am now a mother myself, working at the same library branch that fostered an overwhelming love of literature. That foundation led me to an English degree, being a writer myself, finding new ways of understanding the world around me by reading, and striving to help others do the same: first through teaching and now through librarianship. I’m beyond excited to figure out what that actually means and to find how I can add value to this community that I am cautiously falling in love with again.

This job has been a much needed anchor as I start to figure out who I am as a Midwesterner and Toledoan. I trained with some of the best, smartest people I’ve ever met before I went on maternity leave and I already feel so at home in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve dreamed of a career that would meld my varied experience with a community focus. It’s early, it’s new, it’s yet to be determined, but I can’t help but think, “This is it.”

I’m attempting to redefine what it means to be in the Midwest again and remind myself that I am at my best when I’m constantly grappling with being afraid. Am I ready to pour concrete on my foot and plant myself here, forever? Maybe I’ll never be that person. What I do know is that there are new fears to be explored here, hang ups that will shock me, scare me, and inevitably improve me. Everything I learned in the mountains can be applied to this altitude as well. The lessons are ubiquitous as long as I’m paying attention.

As a skiing mentor to a group of 4th grade girls, when I witnessed the scared stare that every new skier has when faced with a drop that feels too steep, I’d tell them, “Conquer fear, that’s why we’re here,” and I’d show them what I would do when faced with the same fear.

Take a deep breath.
And another one.
Shrug those shoulders.
Open your eyes.
Say, “Oh well,”
and drop in.

I’m in a new land, in a new job I’m afraid I won’t be great at, as a new mother with less energy, less sleep, less extra thinking time, reading time, me time, yoga time, skiing time, hiking time, more to worry about, plan, organize, worry, worry.

So here’s to a shrug, an “oh well,” deep breaths, lots of deep breaths, and dropping into a life that sometimes feels too steep. And remembering that hydration is still important and maybe cheese isn’t all that bad.

October 4th, 2017, Great Basin National Park, peeking at Wheeler Peak

What is Hard? Life With a 3 Week Old

I write this as my nearly 3 week old son naps. If you ask me “how” he naps, I will tell you “great” and then “not great” depending on the day, time, position of the sun through our living room windows. It took me not that long to actually respond with “fine” as any other response can come with unwarranted advice on how to get a 3 week old to sleep. (The only answer to this question is “wait.”)

I did not prepare for this part of my life like I have with other major transitions. In other realms of life changes, I felt like I could read, prep, ask questions, and for the most part, understand what was ahead. In certain sleepless nights of pregnancy, I attempted to do the same with parenthood and was met with an insane amount of conflicting advice on everything. Does breastfeeding really lead to a higher IQ? (NO.) Do epidurals give children autism? And, as many many many pointed out, will having a child completely rid your life of all measurable joy?

Well, most weren’t that blunt about it. But I was cautioned, over and over, about how hard times lie ahead. Get ready. Sleep now. Prepare for Hurricane Baby. You’re in for it. And over and over again, I asked, “Tell me what ‘hard’ means?”

I obsessed about losing sanity and myself and my marriage. When no one tells you what’s actually hard, you fill in the blanks. I tempered this anxiety with being adamant about “getting there and figuring it out.” And that we did. Besides a dizzying amount of hospital visitors and an incredible amount of pain once the epidural wore off, the first few days were better than expected. Penn slept a ton and ate great right from the first bottle. I was excited, thinking, “We got a great sleeper and eater!” And of course, I was cautioned with, “Wait till he turns _____.”

We were discharged and I had my first mom meltdown the night after. Staring at the wall, completely exhausted by the last three days and probably malnourished from dodging incredibly terrible hospital food, I had the moment where I missed my old life. “Will it ever be the same?” I asked my husband. “Will we be okay?” I sobbed. I couldn’t walk without feeling every ounce of the torn muscle I endured, the pain medication did nothing, I still had no interest in food, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it except plow right through.

And I did. I learned about naps and the art of doing one thing for yourself a day (even if it’s flossing!). Sometimes it’s all you need to get your brain to reboot. I held my son and cried happy tears, something I do a LOT still. He stopped sleeping so great, sometimes 14 minutes, sometimes 3 hours in the middle of the day, sometimes only on my chest and no where else, even if it’s 4 a.m. and I have been up since 1. I take time to cry out of sheer frustration of “aren’t I supposed to know what to do?” and then finally get him down, sleep myself for an hour or so, have coffee, and feel on top of the world. It is up and down constantly, I feel great and then I am so tired I am crying, I had a great night so let’s go for a walk, to “that was a challenging evening, little one, let’s sleep right through the morning.”

That’s the hard, right there, but I wouldn’t categorize this entire period as “hard.” There are incredibly tough moments that test my ability to not take my son’s actions personally. If I can’t get him to sleep after a night feeding, I’m doing something wrong. I should KNOW how to do this. Why can’t I figure it out? I learn daily that my ego makes this difficult. Letting go has been the best thing I can do. (Also, naps.) There will be times I can employ strategy. Now, I’m forced to let him be a newborn and do newborn-y things without attempting to fix him because (shout it from the rooftops) there is nothing wrong. Even if it means he doesn’t sleep well, sometimes he eats a lot and sometimes he eats a tiny bit. Sometimes he cries inconsolably and sometimes he calms right down. No amount of baby blogs or well-intentioned advice from everywhere is going to change the fact that everything changes with this little guy constantly and it’s my job as his mom to roll with it. He’s growing. He’s thriving. He’s gaining weight. He’s fine. I wish sometimes people would tell me that more. He’s fine. This is normal.

This period is transformative. Growing pains are painful. They also lead to incredible things. Smiles. Staring at this human for way too long: in complete shock and love. Firsts: family walks, trips to the farm, birthdays, seasons, holidays. Just as Penn is learning to be an outside baby, I’m learning how to be his mom. There is no road map for that, just a very general direction of “feed, love, don’t drop” and we’re filling in the rest by getting to know each other. That has been the best advice of my mom life from my cousin: “Feed your kid. Love your kid. Don’t drop your kid.”

I am now on the other side of all the questions and anxiety I had when I was pregnant and utterly clueless. I’ve inevitably come across pregnant women eager to get a nugget of advice from me. “How is it?” they ask. I feel their anxiety. What I’ve learned is that motherhood is so different for everyone. In fact, I’m not sure there’s anything universal about being a mom except for the fact that you have a human to take care of. We all struggle with different things, just like anything else. I’m careful to offer advice from my view. No one is going to be a mom to my son, so my experience is going to be unique to our family.

But what I will say, which may or may not be helpful, is that:

Some babies cry a lot. Some babies cry not a lot. Some start out not crying and start to cry more. Others are the opposite. You will be a mom to any of these scenarios. We follow the 5 S’s (swaddle, shush, side/stomach lying, swing, suck) and it works 98% of the time, for now. Your kid could love them all or hate them all! Who knows! I’ve never met your kid. Try them all, see what sticks, watch your mom friends and grandmas and what they do with babies and try all of it. Every kid loves and hates different things!

Some babies poop a lot, others poop not a lot. Some babies spit up a lot and some don’t at all. Some babies are healthy, others have health issues. You will be a mom to any of these scenarios.

Some babies sleep great! Other babies do not sleep great. Some babies start out sleeping great, others learn to sleep great. You will be a mom to any of these scenarios. Penn sleeps great during the day and parties at night. We’re hoping he figures out that we are not a family of vampires and that this is not okay.

So what is the hard? It varies. Yes, you may be frustrated when all you want is to brush your teeth but it’s time to feed. You may struggle with not being able to meet your friends at a wine bar all the time. You could feel alienated and lonely and a failure. You could struggle with the lack of sleep. Or maybe none of these things will be hard. But you will have a kid. He’ll be all yours. You may have that moment of meeting her and feel nothing but bliss or feel nothing at all. It’s normal. I’s all completely fine! It’s your story, unique to you and your kid. And as hard as it is to “not know,” it’s part of it. None if it is written down yet. The best thing to do is be patient with yourself and know that whenever it gets hard, whatever hard is for you, it’ll get better. And, you know, hard again. And then better! And unlike hard things you’ve done in the past, this one comes with a child that can knock you out with smiles and snuggles.

Those well-meaning people that told me over and over that my life is over, it’s gonna get real rough, say goodbye to my life, I don’t entirely think they’re right or wrong. I think it’s a matter of perspective. I wasn’t planning on going back to the life I had before my son was born. What is the point of that? In every life change, you walk through a new door and it all feels different: good-different and also terrifyingly different. But what’s the point in walking through a new door if everything stays the same on the other side? I do know that going to Target is a little more complicated these days, going to a house party is slightly exhausting, and sleeping through the night is a distant memory from the beginning of my 2nd trimester. I know that my brain is split between myself and my son’s well being, which feels really familiar and also can be a little dizzying. Reading the Sunday paper can take a few days and crosswords aren’t as easy as before. I know that he is changing so fast, meaning some of the hard infant stuff will change and get better, just as the toddler stuff will challenge us in new ways. I know that what I’m learning from being a mom makes me a better human, exponentially, even if I need a nap to process the frustration. I know that watching my husband be a dad has only strengthened our relationship and I love him in brand new ways that I didn’t see coming. I know that I wanted to be a mom so badly and was told maybe I couldn’t be and for almost two years we tried and tried to have this child and now that he’s here and healthy and thriving? Yes. My life is so different. And I am thankful every day that it is. The sleepless nights, the frustration, the lack of wine bars, I’ll take it all over and over again because I get to be a mom to a really great kid. And not everyone gets to do that and maybe we never will again.

It is a hard thing to love something this much, to open your life to loving and caring for another person, to meet another version of yourself and the person you love and still walk around, attempting to bathe, feed, water yourself. We decided to have a child and for us, that means loving him so much it’s physically hard to breathe sometimes.

But yeah, the no sleep thing really sucks.

34!

What do you do when you're too sad to celebrate your birthday, but also too sad not to? You make a list of things you like and you spend some time with those things. It worked rather brilliantly. Not shown: excellent buddies that helped so much with birthday joy around here. I am not an island. 

Brandon Got Married

Dear Supper Club and Extended Family,

Since the minute I got the “I proposed, we’re getting married” call from Brandon, I knew I would cry the whole wedding day. And I did. I cried so hard my false eyelashes came right off. I was beyond honored to witness this love story get its moment.

Getting a chance to celebrate this big love helped pull me out of a really confusing time in my life where nothing felt certain. Honoring these friendships that have stood the test of distance and time felt like coming home. It offered me a chance to reflect and reminded me who I am and what I want. Thank you all for so many incredible moments this weekend, but most importantly, thank you for showing up in my life, thank you for seeing me, thank you for knowing me, thank you for sharing your life with me, thank you for being in my family forever. I am overwhelmed with a sense of excitement about what’s next for me and for all of us.

Not everyone can get married and radiate that amount of positive energy, reflection, and inspiration. Knowing that amount of incredible humans and assembling them to just hug each other, literally and figuratively, for four days straight could possibly solve all our collective problems. The problem is it’s rare, which is why it’s so powerful. Maybe there isn’t a word in the English language to truly articulate its significance or aesthetic, but it’s somewhere between the feeling of seeing someone you love for the first time in years and remembering the first time you realized they were going to be your forever friend.

As we drove back from The Improv Shop on Saturday night, the realization that this weekend was over hovered above me and I felt so sad. I sighed out, “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.” Pat responded, “Well, I always think we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

Yes.

I had the time of my life and we’ll be seeing each other soon.

Sarah

Make Room

On May 14th, I resigned from my job of four years and eight months without another job to dig into. I have given myself four weeks of nothing. Dad visited the day after my last day of work and so for a week, my time was accounted for. But he left a week ago, giving me a glimpse into the next few weeks. The great unknown. This has been a first.

As a teacher, time off was summer, but I always had a job come fall. I wrestled with enjoying such a long span of time to myself. The first two weeks were always perfect: finally catching up on sleep after that excruciating last month that is May as an elementary sped teacher, organizing my life and laundry which hadn't been done in forever, catching up with non-teacher friends. But then....after sleep got back to normal, and rearranging every inch of my house, there wasn't much else to do. I partied and shopped too much in my first summer off and watched my bank account dwindle. 

Now, sober curious with an aversion to shopping, but with mountains and beautiful weather most days, this stretch of down time has felt markedly different. Maybe it's because I'm nearly 34 and/or because I quit a job on my terms that really made me unhappy, but I'm really enjoying this time. I'm able to attend morning and mid day yoga classes instead of dragging my tired self to evening classes right after work. Hiking mid afternoon is so incredible, especially being able to nap before dinner. Giving myself permission to binge watch shows I've wanted to watch for a while, letting the laundry and the dishes pile up a bit, it feels like vacation every day. That's until I actually go on vacation.

I put a lot of pressure on vacations in the past, perhaps because I was so stressed out that I needed my downtime to be perfection in an effort to compensate for my crappy 9-5. It wasn't that my work was hard, I just reached my peak potential in my position a long time ago and due to the nature of the company, there wasn't any room to grow. And I overstayed because I was scared I wouldn't find anything else, that I wasn't good enough for anything else. Somehow, I found some courage and self-worth this year, and it became clear that I had to leave, even if I didn't have a plan on how to do that.

But having some space in between my last day and this Memorial Day Weekend camp vacation, this one was different. I didn't feel the need to overplan. I actually forgot a few things, and instead of feeling ashamed and guilty, I felt proud. I let go of organizing every minute of our weekend and kind of just let things unfold. It was quite possibly the best weekend I have had in a really long time.

We slept in on Saturday and got on the road around 8:30, rolling into Patrick's Point State Park Campground just before 4. After setting up camp, we explored actual Patrick's Point, Wedding Rock, Abalone Point and Observation Lookout, all within walking distance from our camp site. The cliffs off the Pacific Ocean were spectacular.

Saturday night, we made campfire pizzas and smores and stared at our campfire for hours. We both slept a solid 8 hours (rare for both of us and for camping). Perhaps the best sleep of our lives? So far, that could be true.

Sunday, we woke up with the birds and got on the road to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. A mere 53 minutes away, we headed straight to Fern Canyon. Parts of Jurassic Park: The Lost World was filmed here and I couldn't help but feel like this place was ours. A holiday weekend and we were one of three groups on this short trail. It was magic.

The beach was feet from the parking lot, so after Fern Canyon, we took in a few minutes of Gold Bluffs Beach perfection. Paul said it smelled like cauliflower. I thought it smelled like a dead bird, which is what we happened upon eventually. This is still a debate in our household, but I maintain that cauliflower does not smell like dead birds. Tomato, potato.  

Similar to a campfire, I could stare at the waves of the Pacific Ocean for hours. This portion was deserted and although the coastal air was a bit chilly, the sun helped. 

A short drive away from Gold Bluffs Beach, we headed to Trillium Falls.  On our way, we drove past a meadow with a dozen or so elk idly grazing. A cautionary sign warned us of getting too close. Because, duh.

Trillium Falls was a 2.6 mile loop in the heart of Prairie Creek. We got deep into redwoods country here, but also these majestic shaggy muppet trees were everywhere, along with fat clovers called sorrels that have purple underneaths and beautifully striped white flowers, and so many ferns. So much green, life, moisture, history. I reached my "wow" quota for the year. Also, your neck gets pretty tired trying to take in such giant trees. 

We stopped and took a PB&J break before hiking down to the coast via the Carruther's Cove Trail at the northwest corner of the park. 0.8 miles straight downhill was nothing, but we did work a bit to get back up. Worth the view, though. So much driftwood made us feel like we had been carefully placed on a desert island.

We took one last, easy 1.5 mile hike before dinner at Lady Bird Johnson Grove, which was crowded but beautiful. We had dinner at The Lighthouse, a delicious vegan-friendly casual restaurant that is known for a mashed potato waffle cone (strange but good) and vegan coconut kumquat ice cream with ginger chips. I'd drive the 7 hours just to revisit that dessert. 

After dinner, we managed to make it back to the coast albeit waddling from so much food. The sunset over Wedding Rock was incredible and the clouds at the end of the sun drop made it look like a 16 bit video game. Strange and awe inspiring.

I always have moments where I think about the prep of camping, the amount of stuff we take to feel comfortable outdoors, what it takes for us to set up a life without a permanent house for a few days. It makes me realize how much we've outsourced our survival, especially the amount of work and energy it takes to maintain a campfire. This source of warmth and a way to cook food for survival has now become a novelty, something we do to create a sense of ambience. But we don't need it. And we don't need to camp, or hike, or surround ourselves with ferns and trees and sorrels and wildflowers. Why do we do it? 

Instead of having survival skills, we now pour our energy into our careers, which provides us a way to survive and thrive at whatever level we choose. But I wonder if this has become more of a competition, and if we've tied our self worth to getting more, earning more, taking home more, buying more, instead of really understanding what we want and just making sure we get it. Is more really a goal? Isn't there a limit to more? I've been considering what "true north" really feels like, what we're all collectively drawn to and why, and I wonder if we're all just heading in the same direction because we're afraid other paths will be lonely, dark, unsure, bumpy, leading to nowhere. I mean, watching a peer do the traditional steps of life, college, career, marriage, house, kids, boat, isn't that a fairly well-defined trail that seems pretty straight forward? Isn't it easier to walk in that path versus trying to figure out what you actually want, even if it differs from that life order? And if we do that, stick to that groove, and we're still drawn to something else, want something else, and instead, we just avoid it by getting wasted after work, isn't that telling that we're not actually listening to our internal compass? 

Don't we all actually know, we just don't want to listen to ourselves because it's hard? Because we might not like what we hear? Because what we hear would urge us to change?

There has been a quiet voice that I've chosen to listen to lately. I haven't always chosen that. It's easier not to. But now, I'm listening. And that voice has told me so many things, but it's mostly giving me permission to quit or keep going, on my terms. Quit the job you hate, turn down the job offer that you don't want, stop reading the book you don't like, go on a hike that you think is too hard, try skiing that run you don't think you're good enough for, apply to the job you think you're not qualified for, break up with people that don't like you or that aren't rooting for you, talk about the hard stuff even if it's awkward, do the hard stuff even if you're tired, do the damn thing, do all the damn things. Count on trying to talk yourself out of doing the hard stuff, but do it anyway, even if you've crafted the perfect sensible reason or reasons not to. And then perfect the art of napping because this kind of life is incredibly rewarding and equally exhausting in all the best ways.

This chapter of my life did not come with an outline. I didn't carefully craft this narrative and it shakes me everyday. "What are you going to do in two more weeks?" I sometimes let myself wander into critical mass territory, but I've also been practicing the radical notion that I deserve some reflection, some perspective, some self-care, and most importantly, to get everything I want out of life, out of a job, out of vacation, out of a super chill Tuesday. 

Balancing on logs to get across a shallow stream in Fern Canyon on Sunday felt like a secret: we were the only ones in the canyon for a moment and the subtle sunrays had started to creep in, giving the air a sweet scent of warm green things. That's where the good stuff is: the quiet warmth of a perfect summer morning that you didn't really prepare yourself for. There's that overwhelming feeling of happiness that seems to make your chest cavity swell like your breath could either crush you or spill out your ears while watching someone you love cross a stream like he's seven again. I don't want to feel that way a few times a year when we find time to get away: I want to expect that out of my weekly life.

And sometimes it's that simple. Heart swells regularly. Just make room for them.

Diving Into the Deep End: Learning JavaScript

When I was in eighth grade, my web developing father sat me down for my first tutorial web development. It was a basic HTML lesson and before I knew it, my webpage had a cloud background provided by a wallpaper of the same cloud image I had ripped off the internet. I don't remember what was on that first website, but I do know that creating this page on this internet just by typing characters on a blank black screen was riveting. I couldn't paint like my mom or brother, but this could be my canvas.

Like most women, I was steered into a caregiving profession after giving up a writing job fresh out of undergrad. I taught for four years and burned out brilliantly, but my grad school experience gave me a passion for advocating for disabled persons and underrepresented youth, and also updated my content managing skills. I left education for a content manager position in the health and wellness field, freelance editing and writing in between my day to day.  But just before my last day of teaching, I discovered Codeacademy and Code.org. It was a great way to engage my students that started feeling the summer itch.

It was amazing how fast my students caught on. For many of them, background knowledge was not something they had when it came to reading, but for computers, it was like they had an innate knowledge of how things worked. As the cliche goes about educating, their enthusiasm inspired me to sign up and I flew through the HTML and CSS courses.

And then I arrived at Learn JavaScript.

Dollar signs? Three equal signs playing like they're a double dutch jumprope? What is this, actually? I mean, I know what JavaScript's purpose on the earth is, but how in the fresh hell could I ever make any sense out of this?

My Codeacademy attendance record over the years have been spotty at best, which isn't ideal when learning a brand new language. So when I logged back in and dusted off my coding muscle, it was humbling. But in the same breath, repetition helped. When Codeacademy sent me the email that I had been coding for 5 days in a row, my obsession of checking off boxes in succession kicked in, and since then, I spend a little part of everyday on a lesson. It doesn't matter if it's 5 minutes or 50, I do it every day. And things are starting to click, and then become incredibly impossible again.

Par example, arrays! I love making grocery lists, meal prepping, etc. Learning about .push and .pop and .slice was exciting! Look what I can do with just a few commands on this black screen. I am a powerful list making monster!

And then loops just knocked me on my ass, as how does one ever figure out how that while (condition) is supposed to run? What are the colors actually supposed to look like? Where are those examples that helped me so in the lesson before, bro? (let bro = 'Codeacademy') Humbling. You may have been a list making monster 5 minutes ago, but now you've been mowed down by that slick lil devil that is while loops.

Such is being a beginner. Sarah Drasner (@sarah_edo) just recently tweeted, "For those just learning to code now - remember when you were learning to drive? You had to think about everything constantly - but eventually the car became an extension of yourself. That's how it will be. You will eventually have muscle memory built into many tasks. Stick with it."

I must add an addendum to Sarah's sage advice: stick with it, but bring plenty of naps and snacks and patience with yourself to this coding party. It's a marathon, not a sprint.

I Shaved My Head on New Year's Day

Defining myself on my own terms is something I’ve never given myself permission to do. So on New Years Day, I shaved my head. Not down to skin because it’s winter, but my hair was reduced from an 8” ponytail to a tiny 1/4” fuzz top.

I’ve been in a state of transformation for over 6 months. I stopped drinking in July and save for the sporadic splashes of wine, I’m basically sober. It has changed my life in so many great ways and it’s also really hard for (most) people to understand: if you don't drink, you're either in recovery or you're just "not fun." I don’t have a drinking problem, but I also don’t want one. I just want to wake up feeling awesome everyday. I call myself sober curious (a nod to Club Soda): I’m not opposed to wine but I also don’t want to drink a glass and feel like I need more. It’s a slippery slope for me and I wanted to quit while I’m ahead. But it was hard to quit because I felt like, “What will people think?” Would I have to have uncomfortable conversations with people drinking and me abstaining? Wouldn’t it just be easier to hold a glass of something instead of having to explain myself?

The Friday before Christmas, I read an article about fitness instructor Bethany C. Meyers that has shaved her head many times for a number of empowering reasons and I immediately wanted to do it. I’ve wanted to shave my head since junior year of high school, I just didn’t have the guts. Now, there were more reasons to than not to. My pro/con list was filled on the pro side with a lot of positive things:

• less time on maintenance

• save money on hair oils and product

• save money on haircuts

• easier to do yoga, swim, hike, ski

The Cons list was nothing but what others would think and one instance where I was scared about the grow out phase.

Cons:

• Will people think I’m crazy?

• Will they think I’m sick?

• Will people think I’m ugly?

• Will my husband think I’m ugly? (He’s sad that I thought this, but I’m human)

• Will the grow out phase make me feel ugly?

I knew a bald head would be awesome but looking like a hedgehog for a month? Do I have that many hats?

I can tell you a long and boring story about the cut, the relief, the shock, the settling in, but the real takeaway is the physical transformation I’ve felt after shaving my head.

I feel amazing. I’ve never felt this good. I feel sexy, confident and so incredibly powerful. And this may be totally in my head, but I feel like my pushups have exponentially improved, in form and in duration.

Shaving my head was empowering. Hair is such a big deal for women. We spend so much time, money, and mental energy on it. It defines us in ways that are so ingrained, we forget they're there and we accept them by default. Getting rid of my long hair without cutting it into something “cute" was an attempt for me to reframe the conversation. I wanted to deconstruct what pretty has been for me, what power and privilege came with it. And I wanted it to be terrifying.

But it took a long time, and I agonized over the decision for a solid week. Why has it taken me so long to get here? Why do I care about what others think more than what I think, feel and need?

The “shave my head cons" list has applied to every decision I’ve ever made, but mostly the item, “Will people think I’m ugly/crazy/stupid?” What will they think? What will they think if I’m not posting cool stuff on social media? What will they think if I don’t drink at a brewery/party/wine bar? What will they think when I don’t have any hair?

I ultimately decided that other people’s opinions matter as much as I let them. If you surround yourself with cheerleaders, including what you say to yourself in the mirror, life can start to feel a little less daunting and a lot more supportive. And you start to realize you can do a lot of scary things that you normally would never consider.

I still care. There are bad days and weird days and good days and phenomenal days. But the way my hair looks is insignificant for me in this place that I’m in. What my hair looks like has nothing to do with who I want to be and what I want to do and where I want to go.  

I may always care, but I’m learning, and trying, to care about the people that matter, not the faceless crowd that I imagine is always judging me. I have no way of knowing the truth of their judgment. It may just be something I tell myself and it may be true, but it’s insignificant. People that support and love me, that have gotten to know who I am at my core, they matter most.

I’m applying what I’m learning about my hair experiment to the rest of my life. What else can I do that’s so brave I think it’s crazy? What is something I’m worried about others thinking is crazy? That’s where I’ll start next. 

See you there.

Selfie Game: Lit

Before and after

Day 21

Day 2

Day 12

Day 31

Day 44