Lessons My Daughter has Taught Me: Part 1

It is a pretty standard understanding that motherhood changes lives. I didn’t realize how much until I met my daughter.

The end of my pregnancy was less than ideal. I had decided to leave my job the summer before I expected to give birth and the decision was weighing heavy on my mind. We had wiggled through a number of very expensive hospital bills and I was worried about the unexpected costs of the labor and delivery, in addition to making all other ends meet. It didn’t matter that I completed several drafts of our budget to make sure that we would have enough to cover expenses.

Despite my best efforts to stay healthy throughout my pregnancy, I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia at week 33 and was put on modified bed rest. In my best intentions, I had saved the last month of my pregnancy to get ready for Baby. The modified bed rest compounded my feelings of being unprepared because I could not “nest” as I had intended with washing baby clothes, aggressively cleaning my home, or completing any of the food-preparation projects I had collected on Pinterest. Instead, I spent most of my time watching episodes of Sex in the City and reading about the effects of pre-eclampsia on me and my baby.

Because pre-eclampsia can become very serious, doctors often want to induce a monitored labor. Two failed induction attempts later and I decided a c-section was my only option. This was far from my unofficial birth plan–labor at home, avoid pain medication, have a healthy baby and take pain medication after. Instead, I was hooked up to an IV and monitors to make sure my baby was okay.

To be honest, I felt betrayed by my body. Not only did I develop this condition, but my body would not go into labor. Throughout my hospital stays, I felt like I had failed when I could not tell the nurses that I was indeed feeling the contractions that they saw on the monitor. I wondered what was wrong with my body.

The decision to have go through with a c-section came from the mental anguish of hearing babies being born throughout the hospital unit. I just wanted to hold my little girl. Fifteen minutes after entering the unit’s operating room, my little girl was laying on my chest and looking at my face.

I look back at my hospital stay and I am thankful for the four days I spent in postpartum. Under the care of the nursing staff, I bonded so deeply with my daughter. We were our own world. I had never felt love like the tender fondness I felt for my baby girl.

On the last day, I began to feel the tugging of my anxiety return. At the hospital, if anything went wrong or if I had a question, the nurse was only a buzz away. My mind raced to make sure I asked every question. I collected phone numbers to call if I had concerns before her first appointment two days later.

As we walked towards the exit, I felt dizzy. By leaving the hospital, it was as if it was all becoming real. I was walking into my role as mother, protector of this little baby. I felt the responsibility crushing me.

Getting into the backseat of the car, I looked at this little being, wrapped up in a blanket to protect her against the drop in temperature. In almost a moment of understanding, she looked at me with her big blue eyes and wrapped her little hand around my finger, as if to say “It’s okay, Mom. We can do this.”

In that moment, my four-day-old daughter reminded me that I am not alone.

I spend too much time on Pinterest

I feel as if I am one of those really annoying dieters. I talk a lot about dieting, do it for a few weeks and then fall back into my old habits. However, I would replace the word “dieting” with the word “writing.”

Hello, my name is Sara and I am a binge writer.

For a week or two, maybe a few more than just a few days, my thoughts are consumed with writing. What will I say? What witty observation can I make about myself, or life, or social events that others will be able to relate to? How can I use vocabulary that will interest my readers but will also inspire them to think out of the box? What are my goals with writing this piece? Or that piece? Or using this word?

Yes, it is rather obsessive. But again, how many dieters do you know who will obsess over the products they put into their bodies? I know several.

And, I suppose that if we are going to continue with the dieting analogy, then Pinterest is my secret stash of chocolate I save for “emergencies.” This is, of course, all fine and dandy except for the fact that the definition of what actually constitutes an “emergency” is a little blurry:

  •  A bad day at work, an hour of searching through DIY projects will cheer me up.
  • I want to go shopping, but my rather limited bank account stops me, so let me just cruise around the Women’s Fashion pages as I look for new ways to wear the clothes I already have.
  •  I’m bored and my boyfriend is playing video games. Pinterest it is.

Just as dieters have books on nutrition, weight loss, and alternative usages for cauliflower (yes, thank you Pinterest), I have stacks of books and magazines dedicated to the craft. And they get about as much use as the scale I hide in my bathroom.

Just a quote about writing.

So what do I do? Well, the proverbial “they” say that the road to change begins with admitting that change needs to happen. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to delete my Pinterest account just yet.

I wrote this post didn’t I?

Just a quote about writing.

Some Thoughts on Writing and other Things: Confidence

This past year, I’ve been doing some thinking on the idea of confidence: What does it mean? Where does it come from? How do we cultivate it within ourselves and each other? Etc. After coming off the confidence bender that is college, I felt a little drained and rather out of sorts. I did not have the same support system that fostered such intellectual confidence that I had found in the halls of academe. I was out of my comfort zone, a place that conditioned the kind of strength I had. But where had that confidence gone? How could a trait that is often seen as the cornerstone for a solid foundation of self-worth and purpose seem to be so fleeting, especially when tested? Where was my confidence as I stocked bananas and corrected comma splices?

Writers know that a lack conviction for the words they choose can be crippling. Stage fright and self-doubt will destroy a musician more than any missed note or poor pitch. And artists show their truest selves with every display of their work.

To be honest, my misplaced confidence has stopped me for writing more than a quick entry in a worn notebook.

As a tutor, I see that one of the greatest challenges my students meet every day is a lack of confidence. One at a time, they come into my office, looking for guidance and assurance that they are truly on the right track. Through some coaching about language and sentence structure, we reach an agreement that they have great ideas and that I am here to help them convey them coherently.

Not only are my students overcoming a number of academic and transitional obstacles, they must also overcome their own self-image. Often, although many of my students are smart and have profound insight, they are inhibited by their lack of confidence as some voice from their past continues to whisper that they can’t do it.

For a while, I would joke that I was more of a cheerleader than a tutor. The majority of many of my sessions with students would consist of words of encouragement and exclamations of “You got this!” in my most New England of accents.

Why is it so easy for us to say that we are not good enough, but so hard for us to see our strengths?

This summer, I stumbled across TED Talks. I feel like I’m late to the game of one of the greatest sources of really awesome lectures and new ideas. Amy Cuddy’s Your Body Language Shapes Who You Are has really resonated with me. She explains that our posture, the way we hold ourselves, not only directs how other view us, but also how we view ourselves. If we appear hunched or walk with our heads down, we not only tell others, but we tell ourselves that we are insecure. Yet, if we walk tall with our heads up and our shoulders back, we not only tell others that we are confident, but we tell ourselves this too.  There is an exchange between the brain and body that causes us to believe (or not believe) in ourselves.

Now, I know that I am not doing her talk justice, so I recommend that you watch it. Here is the link: http://www.ted.com/talks/amy_cuddy_your_body_language_shapes_who_you_are.html

Later that same summer, one of my colleagues told me about the phrase academic confidence. Because many of our students come from non-academic backgrounds, the transition to the classroom is really difficult. Although I’m not sure exactly what has come of this or where she caught this idea, I’ve latched onto this idea. As a tutor, I can foster the development of this kind of confidence in my students–the ability to speak with conviction within the classroom, to share new ideas in an educational setting and to be comfortable with this idea of student/scholar.

And with this, I return to my original dilemma–how do we translate this kind of confidence into real world applications? How do we find the same conviction outside our comfort zones?

I use my experience as a tutor because it allows me to distance myself from my own doubts and insecurities. I can see the difference between first semester students and continuing students by the way they carry themselves. Most returning students demonstrate their confidence as they walk through the halls with their heads up. By witnessing how they overcome their challenges, I can reflect on my own and this begets the writing process and some personal reflection on my posture.

On Being an Introvert: Self-Discovery

For the last few years, I’ve felt slightly out of place. Unlike most twenty –somethings, I did not enjoy going out to clubs or bars or parties. I usually ignored group invitations with the guise that I worked too much (which I do, so it’s not too much of a lie). Instead of venturing out to brave bulk shopping days like Black Friday, I stayed home, content with some online browsing of potential gifts.

However, I saw that my friends of Facebook, my peers in living the twenty-something lifestyle, were all very social. They often posted about the parties they attended or the gatherings they had at their homes. And I was a little bit jealous. They always looked like they were all having so much fun. Yet, I knew that if I tried to engage in these same social engagements, that I would find myself awkward and uncomfortable. I would look for an exit as I was forced to share parts of my life or endure the endless small talk. For this, I felt unlike many of my peers because I was uncomfortable with the cornerstone of twenty-something social interaction.

A week ago, as I cruised through Pinterest, one of my favorite downtime activities, I stumbled across a pin about INFP. I don’t remember what the pin said exactly, but I identified immediately with the quirky observation. I had completed the Myers-Briggs Personality Test a couple of years ago as a group activity at work. At the time, I thought it was fun because it links the best careers for your personality and one of mine was a writer, which I have wanted to be since I could read my first book. Yet, I did not understand the other components of the personality or the characteristics usually associated with it.

As I dug further, first through Pinterst and then onto the World Wide Web, I realized that what I had considered my social awkwardness was really a byproduct of being an introvert. I did appreciate one article that explained that begin an introvert did not equate to being shy, but rather that introverts found extended periods of time surrounded by people to be draining. Personally, I actually enjoy speaking in front of people, as long as the topic is not about me. I am not shy; I can approach students and customers alike with relative ease, as long as I am not detained for a longer than two-minute session of small talk.

When I was in college, I sat next to this fellow who I thought was really cute, but I was unable to speak to him for fear of rejection. I didn’t even look at him because I worried that this would start a conversation and he would realize how awkward I truly was. When I discussed this with one of my friends, she explained to me that although she knew I was a genuinely kind person, I came off a little snobbish. This, I found, I can thank my introvertism for. Obviously, nothing developed from my crush, but I carry that same awareness with me- that I can appear a little snobbish. Now, do I completely blame my introvertism for it? Or is it because I am a New Englander? Does the cold make me inherently bitter? Are these leftover feelings from the Puritans?

Okay, I digress.

Yet what is the outcome of all of this?  I am beginning to finally understand my introvert, acknowledge her pitfalls and, most remarkably, embrace a sense of confidence in knowing that I am not alone in my need for quiet reflection, my over-thinking and under-speaking dilemmas and my intensely large personal bubble. It is funny that, by realizing that my personality is so heavily influenced by introvertism, I actually feel more self-assured.