My slightly traumatic birth story.

My due date was June 8th and the week prior I had my membranes swept twice and two false labor scares with one trip to L&D that included us getting monitored and sent home. I had a ton of braxton hicks that felt very confusing as to whether they were true contractions or not. Turns out I was having mild contractions about every 10 minutes and just didn't really feel them. Around 11am on June 9th I started feeling like I was either slowly leaking amniotic fluid or peeing my pants. By 4pm that evening it had happened enough throughout the day that I emailed my doctor to ask if it was something worth checking in on. By 7pm or so I full on soaked my pants and decided it was time to call the on-call number for my clinic. The OB told me to go straight to L&D and sure enough my water had broken and I was to be induced that evening!

They started with two doses of cytotec pills, spaced 4 hours apart. I got my doses of ampicillin for being GBS positive. The contractions got stronger but were still irregular in spacing and intensity. At around 4am the pain started getting consistently worse and it was difficult because the contractions would stack together at times. We had also been battling with Bentley's heart rate decelerating all night. I couldn't lie on my back because his heart rate would dip down to the 70-90's so I was stuck on my left side and it was getting pretty uncomfortable. I made it to about 4-5cm dilated, -1 station and decided at that point to get the epidural so they could start the pitocin and really get things moving. They started the pitocin and eventually the decelerations became more severe, lasting longer and longer with each contraction. By 6am we had multiple people rushing in the room, flipping me from side to side, turning off the pitocin and giving me sublingual sprays of nitroglycerin to stop the contractions. I was having strong contractions that kept stacking which made the decels worse. I had a large amount of bloody show as well. In fact my whole bed was soaked with blood from the waist down. At that point they had called my OB and told her she needed to come in right away. When she got there I could tell by her face that it was getting very serious. She checked me and I was dilated to 7cm and as she is talking to me about my options his heart rate dips down and stays down. Mid conversation my OB looks at me and goes "No we need to do an emergency c-section now. His heart rate isn't coming up."

Within minutes my husband was throwing on scrubs and I was being wheeled into the operating room. Luckily the epidural was in place already so they just increased it to a full nerve block which had a slight complication and made my entire left side numb... but it was better than going under general anesthesia and being intubated. I warned the anesthesiologist that I had severe panic attacks during pregnancy when I felt short of breath and since the block makes you feel like you aren't breathing they pre-treated me with a little bit of versed which made me totally loopy but made the procedure totally bearable too.  I got sick during the section and ended up vomiting everywhere. Within 15 minutes they had Bentley out; he had the chord around his neck and was descending down the birth canal slightly crooked. He also had severe molding on his head (major cone head) which probably meant that my pelvis was too long and narrow for him to make it through.  During the surgery I lost about 800ml of blood which is a TON for a c-section. The next day they almost had to transfuse me with blood because my hematocrit dropped so low. Bentley was taken to the nursery with his dad. I got stitched up and sent to recovery where I continued to vomit everywhere. About 2 hours after birth I got to hold my baby boy for the first time and I sobbed uncontrollably. He was perfect and beautiful and I was so relieved to have him out of me and have him healthy.

 If I am really honest I feel like pregnancy and childbirth were the worst experiences of my life. I never want to go through it again. I can definitely say that my son is the best thing in my world though and I am SO SO glad to have him.

Antepartum Depression at 35 weeks

It started early for me. Despite the fact that I kept blaming it all on my anxiety and fear of becoming a first time mom, the depression really started much sooner than I would like to admit. I remember early in my first trimester having overwhelming waves of guilt and sadness. There were many days that I spent every work break locked up in our library, sobbing. Trying to catch my breath, I would cry out to my unborn child, "I am so sorry. I'm so sorry I'm your mama. I'm so sorry baby." I felt completely horrible that this poor child would be born to such a miserable failure of a human being. I felt so guilty all of the time and so devastatingly sad. I had frequent panic attacks and was so physically miserable with every pregnancy symptom in the book. Stuck on a liquid diet for two months because I could not keep down solid food. Praying that somehow all of the GI symptoms would eventually clear. Praying that my asthma would somehow come under control again so I could breathe. When one thing would let up another would creep in and I only felt more defeated as time went on.

Then we had our anatomy scan in February and we were told that we were most likely having a child with an intersex disorder. Meaning at the very least he would need surgery after birth and at the very worst our child actually had no defined gender or would be both genders but could also have other abnormalities like infertility and mild retardation. Suddenly the baby boy I had named and grown so very attached to became genderless and lacked any real identity to connect with in my mind. That same week I had been started on Wellbutrin for the depression and one of the black box warnings for this drug is suicidal ideation. Over the two weeks it took to do further testing and wait for a follow up ultrasound I began to spiral out of control. We eventually found out that the anatomy scan tech just had bad images because the umbilical cord was in the way and we were in fact having a very healthy baby boy, but by then the damage had been done. Every day became a battle to simply survive. Life seemed utterly pointless and I began to think about death with fondness. Wishing that somehow I could simply not exist anymore.

I decided to go off the Wellbutrin and with the help of my husband and my OB-Gyn I began seeing a therapist that specialized in pregnancy related issues. Slowly, I began to get better and within a month I felt actually somewhat normal! I even remember telling my OB-Gyn that I thought the third trimester was my magical trimester. I honestly only remember one brief period, maybe a couple of days where I felt those suicidal thoughts creep back in and I remember it being associated with feeling physically really crappy. I had a wonderful baby shower around week 32 that was so happy I felt pure joy that entire week. Excitement even for what was to come.

Then came week 34 and the beast that is antepartum depression crept back in and decided to dig in deep. This child inside of me is growing big and it literally feels as if a 300 pound man is sitting square on my chest. I cannot catch my breath for the life of me and I panic on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. The other day I spent a good portion of my day googling things like "antepartum depression" "suicide during pregnancy" "antepartum depression worsening during second pregnancy" in an attempt to find someone who understood the darkness that has taken hold of my mind. I also have been completely preoccupied lately with the thought that I just cannot imagine ever doing this again. The realization that having another child could possibly be one of the worst ideas is so heart breaking. I want more children. I don't want Bentley to be an only child but the thought of willingly inviting this beast into my life again is down right terrifying. I told Chris through tears yesterday that I was afraid I would get even more depressed and commit suicide if I ever got pregnant again. How awful is that? I even considered writing a letter to myself in order to remind my future self just how horrible and scary this pregnancy was. I am so afraid that the joy of having Bentley will make me forget the beast and it's hold on my mind. I am so afraid that I will decide to be brave and that the next time I won't be so lucky. Next time the depression will be so debilitating that I just won't survive it and my children will be left without a mother. The thought that I just can't have more children is a burden that hurts so deep and I know it hurts Chris too. I don't know what the future entails but it just feels very bleak.

Right now I am desperately clinging to the hope that this will all get better once Bentley gets here. It's hard though because I am told that having antepartum depression predisposes you for postpartum depression. I seem to also only hear the horror stories of taking care of a newborn. The lack of sleep, the torture that is breastfeeding, the pain of recovery, the never ending cries of a colicky, inconsolable baby. It all just feels like I will be jumping from the pan to the fire. I have 5 weeks to go and I feel like each day is a battle to get through. Some are better than others but for now I have to keep fighting to live despite my complete lack of desire to go on at times. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Life Lately

It's raining today and I could not be happier. I know so many people struggle with feeling more depressed when it is gloomy outside but I am not one of those. I love the rain. Right outside my kitchen window I have a ton of greenery and trees. I sometimes sit and watch the rain pour down all of leaves. It's incredibly peaceful. My mom always used to call it "snuggle weather" and I can't help but to think of what it will be like when little Benny comes and I can bundle him up in feet pajamas and just cuddle him all day long.

He has been moving a lot lately. Full on ninja style, alien moving in my belly, kicks and twists and turns. In fact there have been many times he has made me jump clear out of my seat or straight up in bed. This kid is strong and super active, which makes me so very happy. It is the best part of this whole process. As I wind down for bed each night I often sit there for an hour or so just holding my hands over my belly, smiling to myself and just feeling him move around. It is truly amazing to know that my child is in there, growing and being his own little person.

I have grown a lot over the past few weeks too. I am officially 30 weeks along now and I cannot fathom how I will last another 10 weeks with this little munchkin inside of me. I already feel incredibly huge and heavy and it can be hard at times. I've been feeling better when it comes to my depression but the anxiety is still there. My asthma has been bad during pregnancy and having a baby growing up against your lungs makes it very difficult to breathe sometimes. It's a big panic inducer for me when I have those severe shortness of breath moments. I'm sure all of you mamas out there know what I mean. The third trimester really slows you down and makes you feel so out of shape!

I worry a lot about the postpartum period too. I know breastfeeding is hard and the lack of sleep is really tough but I actually think those aren't my worst fears. My worst fear is the crazy fluctuation in hormones you have after giving birth. I feel like that has been my issue this whole time... the complete lack of control over my body... physically, emotionally, and mentally it is all so unpredictable. Especially being a first time mom I just have no clue what to expect. Hopefully, the fact that my little man will finally be here and in my arms (and also able to hand over to dad when it gets to be too much) will help.

For now, I am just trying to enjoy having Benny to myself. Carrying him with me everywhere I go and feeling his little feet in my side and his hiccups in my hips... it really is so special and miraculous. Ten weeks left to savor... or survive. :)

Happy Monday Friends. 

Pregnancy and Depression

I have never been the kind of person to sugar coat anything. I am open, honest, and transparent most of the time. And yet my pregnancy has been an incredibly difficult thing to share with people. Early on in my baby journey I deleted my Facebook. I haven't done the typical "weekly bump photo" like most bloggers love to do. I thought I would too! I have limited myself to using Twitter and Instagram and even those things I rarely post anything on. I have been so very protective of my pregnancy and I think it's because my pregnancy hasn't been what I'd hoped or what others expected it to be.

Society in general has this image of pregnant women as these glowing, feminine goddesses. *GAG* oh sorry, did I just ruin it for someone? Pregnancy for me has been miserable and not just because of the usual pregnancy symptoms... because while those are horrible and I do mean horrible... they aren't the worst part. The worst parts are the moments when someone tells you that something might be seriously wrong with your baby. Or when you completely loose any attachment you ever had to the child growing inside of you. Or the moments when the antepartum depression sinks in so deeply that you truly see no reason to exist anymore.

I was talking to a friend of mine today who struggles with depression as well and I told him that I think one of the hardest things to deal with these days is that people see me as weak. They think I am overreacting or that I just don't "handle" pregnancy well. That maybe if I fought a little harder, I could beat the depression. If I were stronger then maybe I wouldn't be so miserable. As if I have a choice in it all.

But see, that is not how depression works. Depression is not a choice or a mindset that you can choose to overcome. It is not something you can pray away or give a pat on the back and expect it to disappear. It is not about mental toughness or about your will to fight. Trust me... coming from someone who has overcome so much. It is no lack of will or strength or tenacity that is getting the best of me. This friend of mine told me something today that made me smile and I even felt a little bit proud. He said,

"The thing is that the people I know with depression are some of the toughest fuckers on the planet. I would go through hell with those people. I'll take someone who battles depression and can still be a success over anybody. There's nobody tougher."

Amen friend. And thank you for reminding me of that truth.

I am thankful for people like him. People who get it. People who reach out despite the fact that I am no bowl of cherries. People who aren't afraid to include me in their life because of where I am. People who don't just ignore it or me because it is uncomfortable for them to face. I am struggling with depression and while it may not be fun and I may be different.... I am still me. I am still here. Still fighting. I still get up every single day. I go to work. I take care of myself and my baby. I clean my house. I fight to live even on the days where it feels pointless. If that isn't toughness or resilience I don't know what is.
I'm hoping that on the off chance that someone stumbles across this post and is struggling with depression... especially pregnancy related depression.... I hope you know that you are not alone. But more importantly, you should know that if you are still waking up every day and choosing to live... you should be proud. You my friend are a badass. 

I Wish I Knew: What Nobody Tells You About Prenatal Depression.

These days I am taking life one step at a time. I seem to be more familiar with anxiety and a lot of fear as of late. Sometimes it feels as if the isolation is drowning out so much it is hard to tell what is reality and what is the result of the hormones surging inside of me. I feel inadequate and like a complete failure a lot of the time. Instead of feeling feminine and glowing, I feel the extra weight I carried before pregnancy pushing its way out in places too visible for my own comfort. As a result I look further along than I am and people tell me I am huge. I feel self conscious about that. I am tired and winded with each step up my stairs. I am told often that it will only get harder the bigger I get. A claustrophobic's worst fear. I read people's birth and postpartum stories and I squirm in my seat, dreading what is to come with all of my being. I don't recognize myself, my body, my spirit. I wish someone had told me how hard pregnancy was. How motherhood starts from the minute that the second line appears. Despite the tiny heart beating just inches away from my own I feel incredibly alone. Scared and sad.... and so very guilty for feeling so. very. sad.

Last week, I was out with Chris running errands and the entire time I held back tears. A blank stare on my face and this hollow, soulless feeling lurking inside. When we got home, he climbed the stairs to his office and I stood in our kitchen and cried. No... I sobbed. Partially relieved to let it out but mostly devastated that I feel so alone and empty even around the ones that I love so much.

Right now I am battling a horrible case of Influenza A H1N1 coupled with a nasty rhinovirus. When we were driving into the ER last night I saw my life slowly spiraling away. My lungs tightening up and the wheezing growing so loud it almost drowned out the pounding of my rapidly beating heart. I panicked, gripping the seat belt... trying to will myself to breathe. "Just breathe. You are okay. Just breathe, Andi" I said out loud. I pictured myself collapsing and being intubated in the waiting room of the ER, ending up on a ventilator for weeks. Oddly enough, being in the hospital was incredibly comforting, heading home afterwards was again horrifying. During discharge my heart rate shot up to the 120's and they had to double check that I didn't need more fluid before leaving. The anxiety is slowly taking over and it is debilitating and depressing. 

The saddest part about struggling with prenatal depression is this tension between the life that is forming inside of you and the deep despair you feel about the whole process.  I have never loved anyone or anything so much in my entire life. The moment I knew this life was growing inside of me was a moment I will never forget. It was euphoric and terrifying and life changing. There are moments where I feel those flutters and I can't help but think that I am the luckiest woman in the world to have my son moving inside of me. To be his mother. To love that deeply... seeing those little hands waving across the screen and little feet curled up so small and yet so defined. To hear that quick heartbeat so loud and so strong, growing every day. It brings tears to my eyes... good tears. Tears of deep gratitude and awe, filled with a desire to be better than I have ever been... all for this sweet baby boy who is already redefining my entire existence. Yesterday, in the hospital I was telling Chris how scared I was that our little boy would be harmed by my virus. He told me, "He is in the eye of the storm, babe. He is just fine." What truth. Sure enough, there he was on the ultrasound swimmin' around like a champ. His heart rate truckin' along at his usual 150 beats a minute. He is my peace. My joy in all of this. My eye in the midst of the storm. My sweet Bentley.

I find myself crying out in prayer every day... begging God to make me worthy of this responsibility... of this gift. Praying that I would be enough for my child. That I could give him everything and love him in all the ways he deserves. To be strong enough to overcome my own crap and to believe in myself enough... to trust that in the midst of my mess I could be a good mom... the best mom for my precious boy.

I wish someone had told me that being pregnant isn't always joyous and wonderful and filled with that glittery glow I expected to have. Maybe they did... but I didn't hear it or understand it the way that I do now. People say rude things and your body is unkind to you and yet that same body is miraculously creating another human being all in one breath. Everything is foreign and feels scarily out of control. Pregnancy is hard. Motherhood is hard... even at this stage it is so challenging. I know I will be okay... but I really wish I was better prepared for this... that this is what making a baby turns out to be for some.

Miraculous. Frightening. Life-changing. Sad. Hard. Undoubtedly worth it... but still so very hard.

Hope

When I was a little girl I very distinctly remember that I loved playing with baby dolls. Up until maybe even 11 or 12 years old I have those memories of cradling and feeding and changing the little dolls that would creepily close their eyes when you laid them flat. What is even more amusing is knowing that the thought of actually being a mother or actually having children of my own someday never even occurred to me.  I never wanted to be a mother. I never had that picture in my mind of what my children might look like or be like. I never longed for the day I would be able to hold my child for the first time. Witness the first breath, first words, first step. I also never really knew why. The sacrifice just seemed so great and the desire so small.

It wasn't until recently when I was hovering over a pregnancy test desperately praying for it to be negative that I even began to think of the real possibility of having children. It was such a fearful feeling... that sense that a train is headed at you while your car is stuck on the tracks. Knowing that if I were to have a child... things really would be okay... but they would not be at all what I expected. Not at all what I had wanted or even hoped for.

And then... only one blue line appeared... and suddenly I felt this overwhelming sorrow... a sense of loss so great it brought me to tears. Indeed the train had hit, but the impact was much different than I expected. Motherhood was now something I very much wanted and the desire terrified and confused me. I didn't know what to do with it all. This strong sense that I was not ready to be a mom... that the timing was not right.... but the overwhelming wish that I could be.

Over time there was this deep searching that took place. Discovering the root of those intense fears I had about one day raising a little person. Everyone I spoke with would tell me, "Oh don't worry you won't be like your mom"  and I got it... I understood why they would say that.

But it didn't help... the fears only grew and began filling every space left unattended in my thoughts. It wasn't until I spent the day with my mom that it dawned on me just what it was.  We were talking about something as mundane as personality tests. I mentioned myers briggs and how much I loved that one... how it had helped me figure myself out. When instantly I was met with such strong resistance. Proclamations about how worthless that one was compared to my mom's favorite numerology system. And it only continued from there... bikram yoga is better than ashtanga... running isn't good for me... etc.

Every single thing I did had a flaw... something that needed to be corrected or trumped and when I made it home that evening I felt completely deflated... emotionally exhausted from the battle it was to just simply exist with my mother. It dawned on me that day that my fears about becoming a mother had nothing to do with being afraid of being like my mother... I was afraid of becoming the person that she always made me feel that I was.

A failure.... stupid... worthless... not good enough... a burden...

These are the words that have spun in my mind for so long and despite the nice birthday cards and the backhanded compliments I never really got over it. I never really believed that what my mother said... how she made me feel was completely invalid. That maybe her words and her actions were more about her and where she is in life than about me and my value. Maybe... just maybe... my fears about being a mother were rooted in completely unfounded proclamations... and not in the ability I have to love and raise another human being. That maybe the deep, deep desire I had for my mother to tell me, "YES, you can do this!" wasn't going to come but that it would still be okay.

And maybe... just maybe... someday I can have the ability... the chance to raise a little person. To love them and protect them in the ways that I wasn't... and in the ways that I was. To give this longing in my heart a voice. To believe in my worth and teach my children their worth too. And at the very least... to know that I am not living out of fear but out of hope instead.

The road so far has been incredibly bumpy and the sacrifices are much greater than I expected. Even at this stage of the journey there has been so much emotional, physical, and mental tenacity required. I have had to be more brave now than I think I ever have and I feel this shift inside of my being. This raw fierceness of protection and love and fear.... and yes, most definitely hope. Knowing that from here on out my life will never be the same... but that it will most definitely be richer and fuller because of it. And despite being terrified still every day that I might not be able to protect enough or love enough, I at least know that I am brave enough to take that first step. And soon... it will all be worth it.

I love you my little munchkin. I'm so excited to be your mama :)

The Letter

The other day I was cleaning out the boxes in my office closet that had been with me since I was 15 years old. Years of moving, transferred from house to house and box to box. I had over a decade worth of letters and cards that had chronicled my life through the eyes of those around me. As I sifted through and tossed the generic "Happy Birthday! Love, Aunt Sue" cards into the trash I came across an open envelope. 

It had unfamiliar writing all over it and it wasn't a letter I had remembered even owning let alone reading. It was from my dad and it was addressed from jail, dated in 1991... I was 6 years old.  There was this moment as I opened the letter where everything else went blank. Almost as if I forgot what I had been doing up until that second. The wind had left my lungs and I felt that clenching in my chest. I slowly sat down on the floor and began reading the words on the pages. The apologies and the desperate pleas to not be afraid. The six places he told me I love you and the three where he said not be afraid. I counted each one... soaking it in just as desperately as he had written the words.  The few memories I had were all there... even the swans he had taught me to draw as a little girl. 

 There I was.... just a few days before my 29th birthday as I sat on the floor of my office, sobbing over the words. Tear drops staining the page, blurring the ink into incomprehensible puddles. The questions that had always been in the deepest parts of my being were right there in a box, on a shelf... in my office... all along. Did my dad love me... or more poignantly 

Am I lovable?

Most of my life has been lived with the desperate desire to be captivating, pursued and longed for. A hope that one day the void of not having my father's love would be filled. The wound of being abandoned somehow healed over. It never ceases to amaze me just how much that father wound has managed to impact every part of my identity. Just when I think I have overcome the breath of it... there it is. I know I have come so far and I know I am not alone in this struggle. It doesn't take a broken home to struggle with issues of worth but a broken home and an abusive father only magnifies the hurt. 

“We desire to possess a beauty that is worth pursuing, worth fighting for, a beauty that is core to who we truly are. We want beauty that can be seen; beauty that can be felt; beauty that affects others; a beauty all our own to unveil.” 
― Stasi Eldredge, Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman's Soul

So today, I am reflecting on that desire, that hurt, that loss, that wound. I am praying that somehow it will heal enough to not sting so much. I am praying for the strength to believe in my own worth... and I mourn the ways in which I have not loved myself enough. 

And maybe along the way... in sharing the journey... others can be healed too. 

Babies and Adulthood

I don't know about you, but in my neck of the woods it seems like everyone around me is either pregnant or just had a baby. Everywhere I turn ...at work, the blogs I read, friends ...so many babies and pregnant women around me. The second Chris and I got married the "So, when are you guys having kids?" questions came pouring in. To be honest, for most of my life, I did not want children and actually that was a huge discussion between Chris and I at the beginning of our relationship. For the most part, I had raised my younger sister and I felt like I had already done my job. I also always have this fear in the back of my mind that I just won't be able to handle being a parent. The sacrifice just seems to be too great and I'd rather not bring another little person into this world unless I was absolutely dying to take care of one.

I can confidently say that right now, I am not in any way dying to take care of another human being. Anyways, being an ICU nurse in a busy VA hospital, I feel like that is all I do these days. Between work and school I can barely keep afloat with basic things like sleep and a normal social life. The thought of being pregnant and then raising a child sounds impossible.

Still, there is this anxiousness in me whenever I see yet another pregnancy announcement. I'm 28 years old so it makes sense that this is the time when people are starting to settle into family life ...I remember having the same angst when everyone around me started getting engaged and married. Even when I wasn't looking to get married there was still this part of me that felt ...left out, I guess? Now, I think I'm afraid that some day when I actually am  ready to have children, that the time will have passed and we won't be able to have them or that it will just be too late. This dissonance in my life of knowing that I am not ready to have kids at all but that I guess maybe this intense feeling that I should be?  I know it will most likely be years before we decide to start a family because there is just too much to do before then, but I just can't figure out how to calm that nagging voice in the mean time. 

The Heart of the Matter

I've been tryin' to get down...

 to the heart of the matter...

 but my will gets weak...

and my thoughts seem to scatter

 but I think its about...

Forgiveness

The Heart of the Matter  

Don Henley

 I woke up early on Monday and as my eyes slowly let the light seep in a sadness washed over me. I looked at the clock just as it turned 6:00am. My stomach began twisting all sorts of ways, knots starting to form.
For a brief moment I panicked thinking that I was coming down with something. A stomach flu of some sorts... until it hit me. Today is my sister's birthday.
I haven't spoken to her in years. I wouldn't even know how to reach her at this point. This is not uncommon in my family. We are disconnected, broken and dysfunctional. The few of us that actually have communication with each other are a tiny handful and the times we actually see each other are few and far between.
I have faint memories of childhood where we celebrated holidays and birthdays... all one cohesive bunch. It seemed as if things were okay... happy even. Maybe that was simply due to my innocence or maybe it was just the inability to see the truth of our family dynamics. At that point I guess anything was better than the abuse I had endured in my previous home. Eventually the facade broke down though and reality set in. There hasn't been a holiday in years that wasn't filled with anger and fighting and frustration and plastered on smiles.
This is why we don't speak... this is why my interaction with my family is minimal and surface level if that.  
If I am being truly honest, it is for the best. I read a blog post recently on the difference between forgiveness and reconciliation. Reconciliation is a two way street filled with repentance. There is little if any of that in my family.
So... I forgive but I do not reconcile.
Fast forward to the next day... work is hectic and busy so I hurriedly settle into report. As I sit there listening to the typical rattlings of the ICU... Intubated 2 hours ago... tachy to the 120's, septic and febrile... I hear "Registered Sex Offender."
My fist clenched around my pen and I took a deep breathe in.
Not today... I don't have it in me to do this today. I have taken care of child molesters and sex offenders before but today, I just can't do it. As I look around the unit and see the chaos... our charge nurse scrambling around like a chicken with her head cut off, I realize that I won't be able to switch assignments and my stomach begins to twist and turn... here we go again.
He remained on the ventilator the entire night so luckily I didn't have to force any interaction. I took care of him to the best of my abilities and went home the next morning exhausted.
I come back to work the next night and I have the same assignment... only this time he isn't on the ventilator and now he is surrounded by his entire family. For the first 2 hours of my shift I was on the verge of tears. Face flushed with anger and fear and disgust all rolled into one big, emotional ball. I tried to busy myself in my patient's room next door, hoping to get the composure to be this man's nurse. Praying to God that I would find someway to detach my own experiences with the horror of what this man had done. Eventually, I knew I couldn't avoid it any longer and I went in to do my assessment. He was a little disoriented but pleasant and joking with his family. I went through the motions and when he was unstable I did everything I could to be reassuring for him. After we got him settled and his vitals were stable he looks at me and says, "You know what... you're a good nurse. I'm really starting to see the skill level of people here and you are a good nurse. You have a very bright future, Andrea. Thank you for taking such good care of me."
It might have been the way he said it or the fact that I was so emotionally drained... or maybe it was the sense of relief I felt knowing I had managed to hide the truth of what I felt towards this man. All I know is that in that moment all I felt was sadness. The only thing I wanted to do was run out of that room... away from him and away from it all. Away from thoughts of anger and abuse and my sister. I wanted to be at home in the arms of my husband where it was safe. Where I could cry and cry and cry... all night long if I needed to.
Instead I just smiled at my patient and said a very quiet, "Thank you." I finished what I was doing and I went into the bathroom and cried. I cried and I prayed that God would give me the strength to forgive.

My August Pledge

Image Credit

I have raved about GradyDoctor on this blog before. I still remember the first time my bff Kelly showed me her blog and the first thing that I said was "What?! She's a doctor AND she's an attending?!"

I could not believe that someone so encouraging and down to earth and humble and genuine could actually come from the medical world and not only that but was a top dog in the medical world (which in my neck of the woods tends to = you think you are God). That probably doesn't say a whole ton about my general experience with physicians. I guess that's not 100% fair because contrary to popular belief I love a lot of doctors I have worked with and continue to work with today.... but I digress.

All I'm sayin' is that GradyDoctor is somethin' special and this is exactly the kind of thing that proves my point. Recently she did a blog post about negative self talk and how people are gonna hate... no matter what there are enough people in this world to shoot us arrows.... to cut us down... to belittle us and make us feel small... so why do it to ourselves? I think women especially have a hard time with this. We constantly complain about how we are fat or ugly or not smart enough or good enough. I know I do it all the time. So, that being said I have decided to take a pledge, along with a handful of other GradyDoctor followers. For the rest of August I have pledged to have no more negative self talk. 

This is the pledge copied directly from GradyDoctor's Blog:

Here is the pledge:

(Place your right hand over your hip and then let your backbone slip)

I, insert your name here, do solemnly pledge to allow no insults directed toward or about myself to leave my lips for the rest of the month. This includes but is not limited to references about the following:

• butt size
• hair length
• baby weight
• belly circumference
• skin surface
• crows' feet
• height
• complexion
• salary
• material possessions
• marital status
• relationship status
• grades
• achievements in comparison to someone else
• achievements of your children
• size of your house
• make of your car
• mistake from your past
• compliments to others with reflexive insults to yourself in same breath

The good news is that you can liberally make reference to the following:

• Craziness of your own family members (but only in presence of other family members)
• Annoying quirks of your significant other (but only in absence of your significant other)
• Any person who stars on any reality television show including but not limited to any Kardashian, Snooki, the people on the Parking Wars show, and any of the housewives Real or Basketball. (Exception to this rule: "Swamp People" and the daddy on "Pawn Stars.")

***(play the anthem below and shake what your mama gave you if you commit)***

Vowed on this day in August 2011. . . . (insert your name here.)

***

If you are prepared to go on this self-hateration diet for the next two weeks and you pledge to leave it to the professionals, make your mark, people!

Go check out her post here and if you are up for it join in the pledge and lets see if we can't make August an awesome, hater-nation, free month! 

 :D

  And just for fun I will be picturing getting this look from one of my favorite little girls every time I start to hate on myself. 

haha That's my girl. :)

My 20 mile run... a lesson in perseverance

 Giant's Causeway, Northern Ireland


 Next time I'll be braver,
I'll be my own savior,
Standing on my own two feet...

~ Turning Tables

Today I ran 20 miles... the last long run I had was a horrendous, awful, failure. Yes... I finished it... yes it was within a reasonable time for any beginner (and a not so fast) marathoner.... but I hated nearly every second of it. I despised the hills... I hated my body for failing me and I was overtaken by injury and the lack of training from a month of no running really hit hard. 

I could not have been more discouraged. I wasn't even proud... I didn't even consider it a legit run because I ended up walking the last 4 miles or so. Recently, running has not been a happy place for me. It has become a chore and a mark on my calendar that I have to meticulously plan for and work around with every bit of my schedule. It zaps my time and energy and those are two things I am in serious lack of as of late. 

Last night I didn't sleep well... maybe 4 hours tops. I woke up dreading the run but the night before I had re-read the "Marathon Words" chapter in my training book and I was prepped. Relax... Power... Glide. Mantras to keep you going when you get tense or tired or lose your form. Amazingly the first 10 miles I felt pretty great and around mile 9 I even felt the runner's high kick in. "Pace yourself." I had to remember I was barely halfway there. By mile 16 I just kept telling myself... "Andi, you've been here before and you are doing great. You got this!" Mile 18 rolls around and the song "Turning Tables" by Adele begins blaring through my earphones.
"Next time I'll be braver,
I'll be my own savior,
When the thunder calls for me...
Standing on my own two feet..."

Pain was setting in now and everything was aching. At the end of every walk break it took immense amounts of push to get my feet moving at a jogging pace again. I felt like the tin man. But then, I realized that I had officially surpassed my previous longest distance and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I was about to finish a 20 mile run. Just 6 miles short of a marathon.... I realized that my dream of finishing 26.2 miles was within reach.  

"I can totally do this! I can feel that marathon medal within my reach!"

See friends, it hasn't been easy... this marathon training as most of you know has been so much more than just running a ridiculously long distance. It has been about overcoming and feeling empowered. About letting go of fears and addictions and baggage. I have been struggling with those things lately and it isn't easy to admit to the world... but it's the truth and I believe there is power in honesty and humility. I am not perfect by any means... I still struggle with feelings of worthlessness and brokenness. I still struggle with the smoking issue. I have had my slip ups. I think it is a struggle I will always carry. My 17 mile run was a clear image of that but I refuse to give up and give in and today... at mile 18... I realized that I am so much more than my issues. I am so much more than any of it.
This time I will be braver...

Today I ran 20 miles because even though I am a broken human... I persevered...

and that my friends, gives me hope.

The messy truth of this ICU nurse...

When I first started working at the VA as a student nurse I remember feeling incredibly intimidated by the patient population. All male.... and all men who had served in the military. For those of you who have read my blog before you probably know that I'm pretty open about my life... my past and all of the struggles I have had to overcome in order to be who I am today. I've written posts before about my family history. I grew up with an abusive father and a mother who was emotionally abusive herself. I've had my fair share of abusive relationships... I'm no stranger to emotionally manipulative and (unfortunately) physically abusive men.

Well, this is where it gets messy friends. When I took the job as an ICU nurse in a veteran's hospital I knew I would continue to grow as a person because the patients I would be taking care of were the exact patients I was incredibly uncomfortable around. They reminded me of all the men in my life who had either taken advantage of me or abused me in one way or another. Learning to have boundaries and learning to set limits... learning to stand up for myself and learning to see these men not as a threat but as very sick people in need of good nursing care.... well it has been a challenge to say the least.

It has taken some serious introspection and a lot of prayer and a lot of conscious effort to become a whole and healed person... a woman who was able to face her worst nightmare and on top of that to have compassion in the midst of that as well.

Most of the time I look at how far I have come and I am so thankful for the progress I have made. The mere fact that I am actively living a healthy lifestyle without being self destructive is proof in and of itself. Still, there are some days where my past and those deep rooted fears sneak up on me. They pop up as a reminder that there is still much healing to be done and that the journey... well, the journey is far from over.

Today was one of those days. I had a patient who was demeaning, anxious and provoking. A patient who questioned me and my abilities as a nurse. He had his own history with drug use which doesn't make things easy when you are in the hospital for a 3 vessel coronary artery bypass graft surgery. At one point during the shift he became angry and demanded that I bring in a "second opinion" about his elevated blood pressures... apparently I was "stupid" and didn't know what I was doing.

After he spoke to my charge nurse and calmed down I went back into the room and he says,

 "You know why my blood pressures are elevated?"

"Why is that?" I said curtly... still frustrated by our recent interaction.

"I'm just not used to having such cute nurses!" he looks at me with a smirk on his face.

Instantly I felt my chest tighten.... I was livid. I ignored his comment... asked if he had anything else he needed from me and when he shook his head "no" I immediately left the room. I could feel my hands trembling I was so angry. I went straight to the charge nurse station and began my rant,

"I can not believe that guy! You tell me I'm stupid, you're rude and disrespectful... but oh... it's ok... it'll all go away if you tell me I'm cute. I guess I'm supposed to just smile and bow down to you cause you think I'm pretty and you're flattering me..... it's ok if you treat me like crap because you can just tell me I'm pretty and it'll all be okay! Oh no you don't. I'm not fallin' for that crap!"

At this point my co-workers know me... they know about my scrappy self and my feisty side so they just laugh it off and acknowledge that he was out of line. I on the other hand.... I was stewing for the next 2 hours. It wasn't until I went on my break that I was able to sit back and realize.... something else was going on here... something much bigger than dealing with a meth-addicted, anxiety ridden patient. My own fears... my own hurts and past wounds had just been ungraciously and brutally opened. A part of Andi that still needs some serious healing had been provoked and it wasn't pretty... in fact it was messy and painful, and if I'm being completely honest it was not fun to deal with.

For me... this is one of those moments where the ugly cry is just around the corner and if you aren't careful... any. little. thing. could set it loose. Luckily, I held it together and didn't break out into uncontrollable sobs... but I still don't have the answer to this one friends. I know I have come leaps and bounds from the damaged person I once was but I also know that there is a long journey ahead... one with steep mountains to climb and bends that have an unforeseen terrain ahead.... but one thing I do know is that I'm moving forward... one. step. at a time.

Living a Single Existence... Part 2

As a continuation from my last post on being single. I think it really embodied a lot of the struggles I have encountered... the gist of what I had felt for a long time. I think it should be noted that the first thing I thought of as being a "bummer" about being single was feeling deficient or pitied... not that it was lonely or that I just wanted to "have someone"... really it was about how I am viewed by the world.

BUT... and this is a big but... in the midst of all of this digging and searching and trying to figure it all out, some really great things have come about for me. It gave me a huge opportunity to step back and really think...
"Okay, if I associate being married with having worth and I associate it with a very strong way of being loved...or rather proof that I am worthy of love...well then, what happens if I don't get married?"

Does that mean I am not worthy of being loved?

Serious question here and it required a serious, honest answer. In having that realization I was able to stand back and really evaluate how I view myself and how I think a lot of single women view themselves as "damaged" goods or unworthy. I think it started sinking in for me before I headed out to Colorado but it definitely settled in during my trip there... just how much I had internalized that thought process.

I have to say that I have been so incredibly blessed with some amazing people in my life who have been able to build me up and show me my worth. Really, more than anything my group of friends and Ami and her family have been probably the biggest factors in realizing.... wow, I am worthy of being loved... and you know what I am so, so loved!

I know... it might sound trivial and kind of cheesy but coming from an abusive background... it is not something that has come naturally. And I think people who have been victims of abuse struggle perpetually with feelings of worthlessness.

So, all that to say that I've come to have a completely different view of my singleness. I don't see it as a deficit in my life by any means. I am so, so thankful for it. I love my life and the freedom I have being single and I feel so much more confident in my own skin. I also think it has given me a completely different view of marriage and the purpose of it. I think the original intent of marriage was about creating a community and a family... and I think I have a completely different outlook on what that means for someone like me who has very little family and is also single.

If I was to ever marry it wouldn't be to find the worth that I now know I can only find for myself and in my faith but it would be to have a commitment with someone that I loved and valued... and to create an extension of the community and family I have with the amazing people I hold so dear in my life.

Truthfully, I doubt I'll ever get married... I don't have any interest in searching for someone or dating really and to be really, really honest... I hate weddings  (I know, probably the only female in the world who does... but they just really stress me out) I will say though, that if I was to get married this is what my wedding would be like... awesome is all I have to say.

I don't know what the future holds for me but I do know that it is hopeful and happy and there are many doors open and so many possibilities. Especially being a nurse and loving to travel... who knows where I will end up? Single or not... it sounds pretty darn great to me :)

Living a single existence... Part 1

Lately, something that has been a big part of my life and at the forefront of my mind, is my identity as a single woman. I have been reading a book and a blog written by the author Bella DePaulo; a social psychologist and a happily single woman. Her book "Singled Out," is about how single people are "stigmatized, stereotyped and ignored and still live happily ever after."

Her blog "Living Single" has really confronted many issues I deal with as a single woman.

This whole journey of venturing into my struggles of being a single woman all started when I admitted to a close friend recently (a friend who is marreid btw) that when I am in a group of married women or even women who are engaged... I automatically feel less important. I am an opinionated and independent person and I think as a result, a lot of times, I come off as very confident and strong (even though I rarely feel that way inside) and yet...put me in a group of married women and I will automatically feel self conscious and less important...less valued. Like how I feel or what I think is not as worthy as what a married woman has to say.

Admitting that for the first time was huge for me, because to be honest I don't think it was something I had even openly acknowledged for myself.

 I think for a lot of women...in fact the majority of women in our culture, marriage is something that defines you. Women find worth, value and identity in being a wife or being desired by a man... but it wasn't until I had this conversation with my friend Kelly, that I was able to stand back and really evaluate my view on marriage and singleness.

Shortly after that conversation, I came across a post on the Living Single blog that truly resonated with how I felt. In summary this is what the post was about.

"In Between: Happily Single but Interested in Coupling."

30 single women from the UK, between the ages of 30 and 60 were involved in informal interviews about their singleness. The researcher, Jill Reynolds told them she was single, even though she was married, hoping they would speak more freely to her about the subject.

This is directly from the blog post:

"Reynolds identified four different ways of thinking about single status. (She called them "interpretive repertoires of singleness.")

1. Singleness as personal deficit

2. Singleness as social exclusion

3. Singleness as independence and choice

4. Singleness as self-development and achievement

The women who talked about singleness as a personal deficit were not necessarily saying that they felt deficient because they were single. Rather, they recognized that women who are single - especially past a certain age - are often viewed by others as deficient. Their hesitation in saying that they don't have a partner (even though they already said so in signing up for the research, and even though they were talking to a woman who told them she was single, too) could have been an indication of their sense that their single status was something that needed to be explained. As Reynolds put it, "Single women in effect always stand accused."

...

One of Reynolds' most intriguing suggestions is that there are dilemmas involved in all of the different perspectives on single life, not just the negative ones. Of course, it is painful to be viewed as damaged goods and to be excluded. But women who describe their singleness as independence and as a choice they have made are not home free. For example, others sometimes see them as selfish. Or, people tell those contented single people that they are just rationalizing.

The single women, as I've noted, seemed to feel the need to explain and elaborate when asked if they had a partner. Reynolds found it even more surprising that the women were apologetic when they said that they DID want a partner in the future. Why should that have been so difficult to admit? Why even think of it as an admission?

The dilemma, Reynolds thinks, is that when women "talk unashamedly about their desire for a relationship," they "risk being constructed as deficient and ‘desperate', and marked by their failure to already have a man.""

I think she hit the nail right on the head there... I think in so many ways I have viewed myself as unworthy of love if I am single and in the process have had a very insufficient view of marriage and of singlehood as a result.

I could really write forever about the subject because it is something I have been intentionally sorting through...but I won't go on forever about it in this post... hence this being "Part 1". :)

In the meantime... I'm curious about your view of singlehood? For those of you who are married...did you ever feel deficient because you were single? And those that are single now...do you feel like you are viewed as deficient by others because of your singleness?

Define Beautiful Project

One of my favorite blogs has a project for her subscribers.... to define beautiful.... what does beautiful mean to you?

I submitted a definition to her a week or so ago and she actually posted it today! (I had no idea until my friend Kelly told me that she loved what I wrote haha)

This is what I wrote:

I have been redefining my personal definition of beauty recently. Most of my life I have struggled to overcome my past. I had abusive parents as a child and was later moved between foster homes and different relatives. I worked my way through nursing school...18 hour days, 6 days a week for years. I have always struggled with self image issues...I am not by any means what any magazine cover would claim to be beautiful... but something that has been incredibly freeing for me is discovering that because I am a child of God ...I am deeply loved and am beautiful because I am God's creation....and that by definition is beautiful.

I feel beautiful every time I read the verse "I am wonderfully and fearfully made" Psalm 139:14

I feel beautiful every time I run, even though I hate running and am awful at it. The idea of conquering something I hate is incredibly empowering to me.

I felt beautiful the day I realized that the abuse I received as a child was in fact not my fault.

I feel beautiful every time I take a picture of something ordinary and it comes out extraordinary.

I feel beautiful every time I am out in nature and I see that the same creator who made me, designed this gorgeous planet.

I felt beautiful when I finally realized that no matter what weight I am or how much make up I do or don't wear or whether I am single or married... I am worthy of being loved.

I feel incredibly beautiful when I am surrounded by my best friends and I am overcome by just how loved I am by them. Seriously, words cannot describe how amazing the people in my life are.

I feel beautiful every time I am able to make a difference in my patient's life. Working in the ICU can be very difficult but knowing that I am able to give someone dignity and hope in what could be the worst time of their life is such a blessing to me. It is such a gift to show someone how valuable they are and how much they matter by the care you give them.

I felt beautiful the day I got my RN license in the mail because that day, despite everything that had come against me, I beat the odds.

I am a survivor and to me that is beautiful.

~Andi, On Call RN

You can check out the post here also! Her blog is a wonderful read :)

Where do you belong?

Lately, I've been evaluating my life as a single person. I've been reading a book called, "Singled Out: How Singles are Stereotyped, Stigmatized, and Ignored, and Still Live Happily Ever After."

It's a great book and I've really been enjoying having someone stand up and shout to the world that single people are no less valuable or worthy than married people. I think women all too often, find their worth, value and validation in marriage. Not only that but I think people have a huge misconception that single people are pitiful, lonely and pathetic (so not true!).

Well, maybe you don't think you see it that way, but let's be honest... how many of you engaged or married gals would admit that when you met your significant other it was a sigh of relief and a huge boost in your self confidence and self image?

NOT that I value marriage any less...I'm just sayin'...

Yet, I digress...that is not the intent of this post... I have much more to say on that topic ....but it's still mulling around in my head and I've got to sort it out for myself first before I word vomit it to the internet. :) Trust me...you'll thank me for that later.

What I really want to know is....

Where do you belong?

or rather....

Where do you find your sense of security? Your sense of belonging and acceptance?

Is it family?

Is it friends?

A significant other?

Or maybe even a job?

Church?

In service activity?

Or a combination of many things?

Please do share...there are obviously no wrong or right answers and I'd love to hear from you all!

Healing comes from the strangest places

I can't tell you how many times I have watched a TV show and ended up in tears. And I don't just mean those "Oh my gosh, how sad!" tears. I'm talking about those all-consuming, debilitating tears that leave you breathless. It is a moment that hits a chord deep inside a place that you had no idea even existed. Let me also say that I am not a typical crier either. I don't tend to be over-sentimental and most that know me would say I'm a pretty serious person and a rather tough cookie. I've survived a lot of hardship in my life and as for my general pain tolerance....I almost fell asleep in the middle of getting a tattoo once, for crying out loud.

That being said....there have been certain moments on certain shows that have really touched me and the other day I was reminded of one.

See, I grew up in an abusive home and as a result (not to be cliche) had to grow up very quickly. At a young age, I became my own parent, my own advocate. Most of the time, if not all of the time I didn't do a great job. I barely survived. I went from an abusive home to an abusive foster home. Then was adopted by my amazing aunt who was in every sense just like me. A little girl who had her fair share of life's curve balls. Curve balls that shaped her into a very damaged and broken person. Once again I ended up in an abusive home. Despite that though, I made it through high school and then pushed my way through a community college because it was all I could afford. At a young age, I moved out on my own in an area that is very expensive and nearly impossible to survive in on a $9.00/hr paycheck, and in the meantime I was falling apart inside. My life was a mess.

Unhealthy relationships, smoking, drinking, partying.
God, faith, church.
People's approval, academic success, eating disorders.
Becoming a nurse.

It didn't matter what it was. If it was a distraction, if it was a vice, positive or not....I used it. I hid from the pain I had and I functioned delicately and very carefully on the surface. I seemed so strong on the outside; so put together. Take one peek inside though, and you'd see a completely different view. You'd see a wounded person who had no idea how to fight for herself. Who did not know, in any sense of the word, how to love or how to value the woman that she was.

Now, fast forward to adulthood. Here I am, in the middle of nursing school. 18 hour days, 5-7 days a week. Working full time, nursing school full time, piling on the credit card debt. Striving to get straight A's (if only I knew back then, that a B was just fine) and studying constantly. No social life, no love life, minimal if any family support. Practically no sleep, I hardly ever saw my friends. The mess inside just continued to grow.

So there I was. Catching up on the most recent Grey's Anatomy episode. It was an episode where Meredith and Dr. Weber (two of the main characters) were in a huge fight. There was a little girl with her mom and dad in the hospital. The little girl had stabbed her father or something along those lines. The mother tried to pretend it was an accident but the little girl....Maddie, explained that she had done it on purpose. See, her dad had been abusing her and her mom. Maybe just her mom actually but it was an abusive home and Maddie wanted it to stop. She fought for her mom and for herself, without even knowing it.

In the episode, Meredith who is one of the residents, confronted the mother. Meredith, growing up in her own dysfunction, fought for Maddie. She saw the inevitable fate of this little girl, because she knew the mother did not want to leave her husband. A problem so familiar of domestic abuse. She crossed a professional line by yelling at Maddie's mom and pleading with her to leave her husband. Dr. Weber, the chief of the hospital threatened to fire her if she did not back off. Keeping in mind that Dr. Weber was the same man who'd had an affair with Meredith's mother and had effectively destroyed her family.
Well Meredith did not listen and was in the locker room, packing her things when Dr. Weber comes in. The scene that comes next was one of those moments I was talking about earlier. You can see what I mean here, it's at the beginning of the video.


By the end of the first two scenes I was in sobs. Not only that, but I was practically curled up in a ball for the rest of the night, crying, trying to catch my breath. Between the scene with Meredith and Dr. Weber and the scene with Izzy and her mom, something had hit too close to home. In a matter of minutes Grey's Anatomy had summed up the pain I had been carrying for my entire young adult life.

"I should have fought for you, Meredith. Like you fought for that child today."

"I should have fought for you."

"You were helpless."

"A beautiful, smart, funny, little girl."

"And no one stood up for you."

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm so sorry"

I felt those words so deeply it was crushing; as if someone had reach into my chest and wrapped their bare fist tightly around my heart. I will never forget how true those words were for me. In my entire life, I felt as if no one had fought for me. Not only was I not worth fighting for, but I was abandoned and abused by the very people who were supposed to love me the most. I had lived my whole adult existence living in shame, feeling as if I was not worth fighting for. Not worth loving.

I couldn't even fight for myself.

And now... just a year or two later, here I am. A successful nurse. An advocate for others. An advocate for myself. A friend. A person that is present in others' lives. A daughter who is learning to love her family better. A single woman, discovering what it means to love herself; to value herself, whether a man says she has value or not. I am not only surviving, but I am growing. I am stronger now. Healthier. Wiser.

And at the end of the day....

I am fighting for me.

Mascara and Fairytales

One thing I rarely go out of the house without wearing is mascara. I have never been one to wear a ton of makeup and as a matter of fact, most of my life I've hated it. Even during my rebellious teen years, makeup was not included on my list of things to fight with my mom about. See, I grew up with a hairdresser for a grandmother and an aesthetician for a mom. Both of whom are extremely concerned with the way they look. Every time I've gone to eat with my grandmother, the first thing she does after eating is she pulls out her mirror and carefully re-applies the lipstick she lost during the meal. When she broke her knee, after calling for help, she crawled herself into her bedroom and found a way to reach her dresser so that she wouldn't have to go to the hospital or be seen by anyone without "her face" on.

My mom told me at age 19 that I needed to start wearing eye cream because I had dark circles under my eyes. She also grounded me once in high school because I performed in a choir concert without makeup on. The list goes on and on. Combine my family's obsession for remaining ageless with our society's expectations of beauty and you have a complete recipe for impossible standards. All of my life, no matter what weight I've been or how clear my skin was or how straight and shiny I managed to get my hair, I've always felt inadequate in terms of my appearance. I think most women, if not all, would tell you they have struggled with some form of insecurity when it comes to looks. I think its natural to have doubts sometimes. I wonder though, if we got completely honest, how many of us would say that it isn't just a fleeting doubt we have on an occasional 'bad hair day' but its more like an irrational, continuous gnawing at our self worth?

Theta Mom just did a great post about beauty and our struggles as women and I'm so thankful for those of us that are fighting for women to re-define their worth and standard of what is beautiful. Cause lets face it, whether we are a beauty queen, a model or an average woman living everyday life, most of us will never feel we are good enough on some level.

In fact, the other day I was looking back at pictures from a formal I went to during college, about six years ago. I was probably the smallest I have ever been in my young adult life, squeezing into a size 2, Jessica McClintock dress. I see those pictures now and I would give anything to look the way I did back then. The funny thing about it though, is that I remember feeling incredibly insecure at the time. I remember comparing myself to my girlfriend who had made the trip with me. I felt self conscious because I couldn't run like she did and I didn't have perfect skin or wash-and-wear hair, I felt out of shape and overweight.

It saddens me to know that I've lived under that kind of shame and pressure most of my life. So, I'm trying to take a step back now. I'm taking a look at my beliefs and I'm re-evaluating the way I view myself. I was talking to a girlfriend about this recently and she asked me if there was something I could do to start taking my power back. There are a lot of things that I do in order to meet our world's standard of beauty... whatever that may be.

Mascara is just one of those things. I'm not quite brave enough to go to work or out on a daily basis without make up, but I can give up my mascara. It's the one thing that I feel makes a big difference and it's also the one thing that bugs me the most. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten mascara in my eyes in the middle of a procedure at work or while I'm driving. My favorite though, is when I'm in an isolation room, gloved, gowned, masked and yup, here it comes...my eyes start watering, black streaks begin to pour down my cheeks and I can't touch anything without going through the whole obnoxious process of taking everything off, walking out of the room, washing my hands and at that point I'm a complete mess.

So, here goes, for now I'm gonna pass on the mascara and I'm gonna take that first step of learning, (hopefully) to be okay with just plain old me...make up or not.

Expectations

One of the reasons I started writing this blog is to write about everything I experience in my nursing career and the ICU. I remember when I started my job last summer I was so nervous and desperate to find any tips to survive that I searched “New Grad ICU blog” on google. Haha. Yes, I was that desperate. I told myself that if and when I survived the three-month new grad. precetorship at work, I’d start a blog. One that would share the tips I have learned along the way in surviving not only the ICU but also the beginning of a nursing career in general. I find that just hearing someone else’s stories and knowing that their are other people who have gone through the same thing is incredibly comforting.

Now that I’ve started writing, I think the purpose of this blog is beginning to morph into something much broader. There is so much I encounter in my job that is beyond the boundaries of the medical field. I have come across issues of cultural diversity, political differences, women’s rights, death and faith. I don’t expect to be followed by hundreds of people out in this vast world of Internet blogging. Realistically, I think I just want a place to write about the growth I am encountering as a person, as a woman and yes, as a nurse as well.

Something I have been grappling with lately is my identity as a woman. Earlier this week one of the nurses on my unit told me she noticed I had gained weight.

Here I was, sitting innocently in the break room. Trying to peacefully have my fruit and yogurt before what I knew was going to be an insane day. It was my second orientation day taking care of a fresh post-op, open-heart surgery patient. (Post on that soon to come!)
“Oh, look at Andi! She’s eating so healthy!”

“Yeah, my doctor told me I’ve gained some weight since last year so I’m trying to eat a little bit better.”

“Oh yeah I was noticing that yesterday.” (She motions her arms away from her body around her hips, making the motion of being very wide.) “You’ve gotten bigger!”

I was stunned.

“Yeah, I think working the night shift has been a little hard on my eating schedule.” I tried to hide the feeling that the wind was being knocked out of my chest.

There have been a couple of instances like this that I have come across recently. Not necessarily about my weight but about my worth and value as a woman in general.

“A man is looking for the mother of his children for a wife.”

Hmm, so you’re telling me that the only value I have in a relationship and to a man is in my ability to bare and mother children?

Most of my life I have struggled with issues of weight and beauty, value and self worth. Our society has so many expectations that are placed on us as women. We are expected to be gracious and nurturing, strong and resilient in all circumstances. We are told that beauty fits a very specific prototype of the typical 5’8” and 125lb, perfectly presentable female. We are told that, to be desired as a sex object by men brings us power and affection. We are taught that the “perfect wife” is one whose entire life goal is to serve her husband and raise his children. We grow up surrounded by role models that have fallen victim to the fallacy that to be valued as a woman is measured in how desired you are by a man.

Not until recently though have I started to truly question how many of those expectations I have internalized for myself. How much of that message do I choose to make my own standard in determining my worth?

I do need to loose a few pounds. I’m not overweight but I am almost outside the range for my height, so healthily speaking… I could afford to loose a good ten pounds or so.
I wish I could tell you that were my only reason or even a reason at all for my recent change in eating habits. It’s not. I want to loose weight because I am tired of feeling ugly and undesirable. I am tired of not fitting into my clothes and I’m tired of constantly being afraid of mirrors and always comparing myself to those around me who are, what I consider to be, pretty and thin.
It is exhausting to constantly feel like I am unworthy because of what I look like or because I am not the image of what we are told is desirable. I just wish I was good enough…simply because I am me.

So here I go, on an attempt to become healthier and a mission to loose weight. For now I know I am not doing it for the right reasons and because of that I might fail. Still, I know it is something I need to do and in the meantime I hope that along the way I will eventually stop doing it for the sake of everyone else and start doing it because I love and value myself…simply because I am worth it.