A Year of Joy

2007 - Taken the day before my eldest was born.

Was this not the picture you were expecting?  I’m not surprised.

I’ve been a bit obsessed with body-image as of late.  With my youngest having “Belle” regularly used as part of her nickname at daycare, to my eldest getting angry at me because I chose the jeans that aren’t “pretty”, I’m becoming more and more aware of how my body-image perceptions are (will be?) affecting my little ones.

With this on my mind, I was recently having a chat with my twenty-something cousin.    I was complaining about feeling guilty for not running on a regular enough basis.  She (self-proclaimed overweight, smoker) was talking about the steps she was taking to get healthier.  We got on the topic of body image.  I told her I could totally see her in a bikini, which she vehemently denied as a possibility.   I asked her “Do you think I could wear a bikini?”  Her answer: “Of course!”  I replied “Well, I certainly don’t feel confident enough to wear one right now.”  But at a petite 5’2” and 120 pounds, most people think I have perfectly lovely figure, suitable for flaunting in next-to-nothing swimwear.

Moving on.  A few days later, I got annoyed with some of the phraseology this article.

What exactly does it mean to be “bikini-ready”?    I have serious issues with the way language is used in the media these days (forever?)  We become conditioned.  We hear something and are trained to match the sound with a certain image.  (IE. bikini-ready = skinny)

And “shape”?  What is “shape”?  “In shape” doesn’t imply “healthy” anymore.  We’re not referring to it as a synonym of “silhouette”.  In shape = thin= something that is just not realistic for many people.  In the article, it states that Katherine McPhee dances five hours a day. No shit!  That’s part of her job!  And let’s not even go into the details.  The wrinkles, moles, scars, dry skin, discoloured skin, stretch marks from simply growing up or having babies, bruises from being kicked by said babies, lumps, bumps, cellulite, fat, skin, bones, muscles… the things that make us human, unique, who we are.   We are programmed to see them as flaws… not as fact.

What is attractive comes in all shades and sizes.  And yes, you could argue that there are more attractive ways to dress than others.  Ways that clothes flatter one’s shape more than others.  But confidence is also sexy.  Perhaps even sexier than the package it comes in.  And one should be able to wear anything, even a bikini, no matter how he or she looks, without being concerned that their body is going to be perceived as “not-ready” for it.    That is bullshit.

I won’t ever be able to break myself of some of this conditioning, but I’m trying to be more aware of it for my own sake and for my kids.  I can’t shelter my kids from the media.  I can’t deprogram myself.  I may always be shy about the jiggle in my thighs and my un-toned stomach.  But I can focus on some things:

-          I am unique, wobbly-bits and all, and that is nothing to be embarrassed about.

-          I am not special.  Humans all over the world have these “imperfections”.  If so many of us have them, why must we fight so hard to wipe them away from our existence?

-          There are things I can control.  I can eat sensibly.  I can stay active.  I can take care of my mental health.

-          I am defined by who I am, not by how I look or what I wear.

I took a picture of myself every month during both pregnancies and put them in a book along with my journal notes.  Years from now I want to be able to share them with my girls, to show them how fascinated I was with the changes my body was going through…  How blessed I felt to be growing them inside me…  How fortunate I was to be so healthy.  Would I have felt confident going out to a beach dressed in said bikini at the time?   Probably not, and that’s kind of sad now that I think about it because I was at one of the healthiest moments in my life.  Hell, I was growing life at that moment!  If there ever was a time for my body to be ready for anything, it was then.  I want my girls to know that.

There was a time when I had nervous butterflies at the thought of juggling work, social life, and family life.

And those nervous butterflies translated into adrenaline.

And that adrenaline turned into super-productivity resulting in euphoric multi-tasking bliss.

So what changed?

My internal monologue broke.  That’s what.

Instead of feeling high like I used to, I often feel heavy.

I used to be pretty damn good at positive self-talk.  This came from years of practice, raised as a single child, playing alone in my room… lonely.  There was no one to judge me.  No one to shoot me down.  So I got pretty good at raising myself up.  Giving myself props.  Boosting my confidence.

Nobody can make you feel anything.  You make you feel things.  That’s what my mom used to (still does) say… roughly paraphrased.  And there was a time where all it took was to remind myself of that… that I was in control of my emotions… and I could set myself right.  Talk myself through (what I realise now was) a panic attack.   Push the negative bullying thoughts aside.  Focus on the positive.

But that seems harder to do now.  And I’m not 100% sure why.  I never used to doubt myself as much as I do now.  Maybe now that I’m a parent, that I have a higher level of overall life responsibilities, I feel a bit more fragile.  A bit more vulnerable.  A bit more scared that I can’t keep it up.

But keep it up to whose expectations exactly?  My own!  My own stupidly high expectations.  It’s true.  I make ME feel things.  So why am I making myself feel fragile… vulnerable… scared?  These emotions should be on the same level as guilt and anger… utterly useless to hold on to.  Exhausting.  Draining.

So, yeah, internal monologue… I need to find her again.  Starting with this:

” I did enough work today.  It was productive and satisfying.  I cuddled my daughters.  I connected with friends.  I took time for myself.  Today was a pretty damn good day.”

And, yeah, I may not fully believe it now.  But that’s because she’s quiet.  I suspect she’ll get louder, one day soon, if I keep giving her a chance to speak up.

Demolishing a to-do list.
Running into old friends.
Making new connections.
Garlic, slow roasted.
Mulled apple tea.
Finding the perfect gift.
Making the perfect gift.
Coming home to a delivery.
Pretty dresses in a box. On sale.
Letting go of anger.
Playing princess.
Being a role model.
Sticky maple syrup fingers.
Colorful tights.
Remembering who you are.
Looking forward to who you’re going to be.
Being in love.
Scotch. And bed.

It all adds up.

I woke up this morning at 6am after a pretty solid night’s sleep and I felt rotten.  In fact, I felt wretched the entire day.  A day you could classify as a “bad mental health” day.

But I persevered.  I got through it.  Because that’s what you do.  Life goes on, and someone always has it worse than you.  So you remind yourself of that.  And you remind yourself of all the good stuff that surrounds you.  Before you know it, it’s the end of the day and tomorrow will bring… something new.  Maybe better.  Maybe worse.  But most certainly different.

Two little/big things helped me today.    Not one, but TWO of my friends started blogs and both of them cited me and my joy365  ramblings as inspiration.   Yep, that pretty much made my day… and then some.

Introducing My Thankful Spot (“a place to appreciate the many things in my life that I am thankful for”), and Erin Allyn (“finding something lovely in everyday”.)

Best of luck ladies… happy writing!

Boxing Day has always felt like the lesser-holiday.  The day after.  It’s often kind of a let down.  Low key.  With that feeling of not knowing what to do with yourself.   So, I decide to do another hourly photo post.  To see if Boxing Day is as much of a let down this year as it has been in the past.

I guess it’s all about perspective.  I don’t think I did much differently this year, but today wasn’t a let down at all.

7am - Good morning.

8am - Coffee and Boxing Day sales.

9am - DD2 is upset because DD4 won't share. See culprit in the back gleefully playing.

10am - DD2 seems to have forgotten all about her earlier problems.

11am - Paper doll.

Noon - Packing.

1pm - Homemade fish and chips.

2pm - Shoveling.

3pm - Eerily quiet.

4pm was naptime so

5pm - Sleepy Mommy and Baby

6pm - Decisions, Decisions. (And being fortunate to have so much to choose from.)

7pm - DD2's still plumpy baby hands.

8pm - Euchre. (Aside: I won both games... this never happens!)

9pm - 3D puzzle time. Same one I've done every Christmas since 1997.

10pm - Almost bedtime.

The holidays this year have been restful and relaxing. The best part about them has been having so much quality time with my girls, without any work pressures or other stresses.  I appreciate them so much more when I don’t have a dozen other things on my plate.

This is the second year in a row I’ve documented the day using the #hourlyphoto hashtag (See @missfish‘s post about it here.)  Enjoy… I know I have.

6am - DD4 discovering that Santa ate all the cookies she put out for him the night before.

7am - My boyfriend writes the best love letters.

8am - Craft time.

9am - Time for my second cup of coffee.

10am - Cuddles.

11am - Uncle Richard and Grandma (a few dirty lyrics to Christmas tunes may have been sung.)

Noon - Lunch! I look forward to this all year.

1pm - Presents? For me?

2pm - Presents opened. Food coma started. I need a top-up.

3pm - First time I'd heard my honey's voice since he left for Costa Rica five days ago.

4pm - Cranberry juice, apple juice, mulling spices.

5pm - Playing games with Grandma.

6pm - Leftovers.

7pm - A bit of telly with Grandpapa before bed.

8pm - Movie on tv, Kobo and single-malt scotch. Can't complain.

721 days, over 15,000 hits, 365 beautiful things, and finally the journey is complete.

And now, for the finale, the last bit of beauty that has brought me joy…

CHANGE.

I don’t deal with change well. I never have. I can see it in my daughters too. I’ve passed on that certain inflexibility to them. However, the wiser I’ve become the better equipped I am to deal with change. As scary as change is, it’s impossible for me to deny how beautiful it is. Life truly is about the journey. I mean, what exactly is the destination? What is our purpose? I still don’t know. There were days in my life where I thought I knew where I was going… that I was on the “right” path, and eventually discovered how “wrong” I was. But did that take anything away from how I got there? No. I can still appreciate every amazing moment of the journey for what it was and for how it has made me the person I am today.

There is beauty in change. There is joy in accepting the new moment for what it is. There is exhilaration in not knowing where life is going to take you from day to day, from second to second. There is power in knowing that all you can really do is make the best of the circumstances you’ve been dealt while fighting for what you want to adjust, and accepting the things you can’t.

Looking back at the blog, I’ve noticed that I haven’t rediscovered much beauty in the stuff that is unchanging because I naturally find joy in those things. I appreciate them, and I am grateful for them. The real joy is in noticing what is different… what is new… what is slightly scary.

Have I succeeded in really slowing my life down, properly soaking in the little things, bringing new smalls joys into my life? Not really. I move too fast. I don’t see very well. But, I have grown. I have embraced change just a tiny bit more than I did 721 days ago. Though this project had a deadline, it should never have been about the end result. It was about all those blips, bumps in the road, and beautiful moments that got me here.

Change isn’t quite so scary anymore. I’m looking forward to more of it.

Huh…

Well that’s done.

So…

Now what?

Who knows?

I sure don’t.

And that’s fine by me.

I’m not talking about a field of subtle, luminous radiation surrounding a person or object here.  I’m talking about the perceptual visual disturbances migraine sufferers get, usually before the pain hits.

One is  light and fluffy and lovely.  The other is disorienting, anxiety-inducing, and just plain strange.

My mom told me she used to get them a lot, usually as a sign that a particularly nasty migraine was on the way.  When I started exhibiting migraine symptoms in my early 20s, I didn’t have any aura.  I counted my blessings on that one.  Turns out I was just bidding my time.

I’ve had aura three times in the past year and, though it certainly has its downsides, it’s also beautiful for a couple of reasons:

1) It warms me that a migraine is coming.  The aura doesn’t hurt.  Not really.  It’s more awkward and annoying than anything else.  The good part about it is that when I see it, I have enough time to  take some meds and, hopefully, stave off the worst of the pain.  Hopefully.

2) Once you get over the utter weirdness of not being able to see properly out of one eye, the effect is actually quite pretty.  Like the spots you get after staring into a bright light, but to a much more intense degree. Mine has a dark grey center with a thick bright yellowy-white edge.  The aura starts as small as a pencil tip, eventually becomes as big as a dinner plate, and finishes by working its way out of my periphery.  The bright edge is jagged, with lots of think black lines and chunky dark geometric shapes.  It’s got a crystal-like quality.

Sounds fancy right?  Sadly, once the pretty part of the aura is gone, I’m left with a screaming headache and  accompanying symptoms similar to stroke.  Not so fancy anymore huh?

I had the aura last night around 9pm.  The migraine started at 10, and it’s still there now judging by my inability to type anything properly the first time I try.  Oh and I’m still in pain.  There’s that too.

But it was beautiful.  For a few moments anyway.

I’ve been fortunate.  I’ve felt pretty darn confident doing 95% of the jobs I’ve had in my life .  Motherhood is *not* one of them.

Most of the time I really don’t feel like I know what I am doing.  I’m flying by the seat of my pants.  Constantly looking under the couch and behind the dresser to find that damn manual that’s supposed to answer all of my questions… tell me what to do… make this whole thing easier.

But sometimes, I trust my instincts.  Sometimes, I have a strong gut feeling and I follow it with all my heart and soul.  And sometimes, it pays off.  Big style.

I had one of those moments this weekend.

I should trust my instincts more often.

This appeals to both the artist and major nerd in me.  Beautiful on so many levels.