Month: June 2023

Hello again!

On 19 June 2023

Hello again! Or, if you’re new here, hello and welcome!

In 2020, as a brand new mom struggling with her postpartum body image, I started a blog called The Other F Word to navigate through some of my own personal challenges and to dig deeper into topics like fat-phobia and diet-culture. Along the way, I uncovered some triggers and some trauma that had formed the way I felt not only about myself and my body, but also the way I viewed others. As a mom of girls, I decided that I really wanted to break those cycles of associating self-worth with appearance and tearing down others to help yourself feel better.

I just wasn’t really putting any of my daily time or energy into ME, and that had some physical and emotional consequences.
Candice

After I had my second child, I was SO overwhelmed with trying to find myself as a person, a mother, a wife, a corporate leader, and an artist while I had two tiny humans literally depending on me to sustain their life. I have a wonderful and supportive partner, but I wasn’t communicating my needs because frankly, I wasn’t sure what my needs were. With all this going on, I stopped writing. I stopped creating in general. I stopped nourishing my body, I stopped engaging in joyful movement, I stopped reading, I stopped looking my best every day… Now, that’s not to say I entered a full-fledged depression. I was still compliant with my meds, I was still keeping up with my talk therapy, I was engaging with my children, my husband, my family… I just wasn’t really putting any of my daily time or energy into ME, and that had some physical and emotional consequences.

In July 2022, I had a pretty explosive exchange with my dad. I’m not interested in airing our family drama, but he said some pretty uneducated things in front of my children and that’s just not something I’m comfortable with; the things he said were also an emotional trigger for me as a person but I tried to educate and to establish a boundary, and he tried to laugh it off with a joke and an “agree to disagree”. As is my nature, I did not let it go, because I wanted to leave this conversation with a boundary and mutual respect established. Due to my general lack of self-care, I was unable to maintain the level head and emotionally mature responses I’ve worked so hard for and the conversation escalated to literal screaming and tears; we’ve not talked about it since. After that weekend, I didn’t talk to my family for quite a while. In fact, I didn’t even see my parents again until the end of October, and I didn’t see my older siblings until Christmas. While all of this may seem pity-inspiring or sad… to me it wasn’t. If I could go back, would I conduct the conversation differently? Sure. But what I got out of that time apart from my family was so, so good.

Before I go on, I need to be very clear: I love my family and my family loves me. Where we have struggled is in understanding each other for who we are. In order for me to get there, I needed a catalyst. Following the divorce of my mom and my biological father, I had a tumultuous and confusing childhood and I’ve got some codependency issues. Okay, that’s putting it mildly… I’ve got some pretty extreme codependency issues that I’ve been in recovery with for over 20 years. At 36 years old, I was still constantly seeking validation, approval, and displays of affection from my family, and honestly… my family are just not affirming, affectionate people. At least not in the way that I was asking them to be. Time away from them helped me to see why that is, that they are doing their best, and that I don’t need their validation, approval, or affection to be okay.

The first few weeks, I was so angry. No matter how upset they were with me, how could my parents possibly go 2+ weeks without checking on their grandchildren?? I would NEVER. The nerve, the audacity, the gumption, and the gall. And then I realized… if my siblings didn’t regularly bring their children to my parents’ house… they would probably go several weeks without checking on all of their grandchildren. That’s not a read… my parents are just very hands-off, and they always have been. We were raised to be independently functioning humans, rather than a community or a unit. Their lack of reaching out wasn’t personal; it wasn’t about me or my kids, it’s just who they are. I realized I could continue to be angry and continue to hope that someday they will be different if I just keep telling them how I feel…. Or I could just meet them where they are. I get so tired of meeting people where they are, but sometimes you’ve gotta know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em. I’ve been expressing my feelings and my needs my entire life… and they just don’t have it to give. I realized that if I continue the way I’ve been going for the last 36 years… I’m never going to break free of this truly awful cycle of feelings. My family shows their love and affection in their own way, not my way, and that’s okay. Talk about a POWERFUL revelation.

Are things still slightly weird with my family? Sure, but things have always been slightly weird with my family because I am so incredibly different from all of them. But me as a person? Y’all I am starting to learn about myself in ways I didn’t even know I should. I still have so much self-work to do (it’s a never-ending process), but that one realization has led to another, and another, and will continue to lead to more, allowing me to achieve the kind of growth and compassion I’ve been striving for my entire life. Which brings me here, to this re-branding of The Other F Word into …Now What?

Now that I recognize my own triggers, and the toxicity of US culture (and some immigrant culture from my great-grandparents) that led me to certain thoughts and beliefs in the past…. Now what? Now that I see how truly unlikeable I was in my youth, now that I understand why without viewing it as an excuse… Now what? Now that I’m not looking for validation from my family… Now what? Well… we gon’ find out. I hate the term “lifestyle blog,” but I guess that’s what this is. It’s not going to be one of those blogs where the house is spotless and everything is well-lit and impeccably styled and I’m sharing my favorite $60 moisturizer… It’s just going to be me, living my life in a 100 year-old house in a mediocre neighborhood, constantly remodeling bits at a time as the budget allows, wearing miss-matched pajamas and drug store makeup. As for topics, I’ll be unpacking some of the responses I’ve built up as a direct result of trauma. I’m going to own up to some of the ugly things I did in the past, because trauma may be a cause, but it’s not an excuse. I’m going to keep working on my relationship with my body and with food. I’m going to talk about parenting: the joys, the trials, and everything in between. I’ll talk about marriage and all that comes with it, including a relationship with a whole new-to-you family. I’ll talk about fun stuff like my sneaker obsession, YouTube tutorials, and family vacations. We might even review some products because why the hell not? It’s going to be ugly and messy and beautiful and completely random, just like me. I am so excited for this new direction and I am so glad to have you here with me while I figure out who I am and what exactly brings me joy. Until next time… go love yourself.

Travelling with Toddlers!

By nowwhatblog.com

On 19 June 2023

In Toddlers

Raise your hand if you’re one of the people who dreads getting on a plane with small children.

SAME.

Raise your hand if you’re one of those people who brings their small children on a plane.

SAME.

So, if I belong to the first group, why the hell am I bringing my small children on a plane? To put it bluntly, my children are human beings who deserve experiences and adventures just like you and I. They should get to visit their grandparents and experience the beautiful island their father grew up on, but they should also get to do fun things like go to Disney World. I know kids aren’t for everyone, and there are tons of things to do in this world where there will never, ever be children present. Air travel isn’t one of those things. That being said… let’s talk about how it feels to be an adult flying with small children, and why we chose to fly rather than drive if either is an option.

First and foremost (for me), I have just spent a preposterous amount of money on 4 plane tickets, knowing full-well that these tiny humans are going to spend most of the flight climbing all over my husband and I. Does my one year old technically need her own seat? No. Do I want to have the ability to strap her little butt in a chair if Mommy needs a damn minute? Absolutely. Are those plane tickets a waste of money? Depends on how the flight goes. Second, not only will we be spending several many hours in small, indoor spaces with our own children, but we are knowingly forcing other adults (who may not like children) to do the same. I love my children, but they are tiny humans who are just learning things like personal space, emotions, and public behavior. We were living in global lockdown for the vast majority of their short little lives, so we have a whole extra learning curve in this newest generation of humans. Not everyone gets that. Not everyone has the emotional capacity to even consider the perspective of the adults or the children in the situation. Some people may have actually given it some thought and decided that they just don’t care anyway. I know all of those things, and I know people are going to say crappy stuff about us and to us and I’m fine with that; it’s a ‘you’ problem, not a me problem. My completely innocent and joyous children however, do not deserve an emotional immaturity dump all over a day that is already full of huge emotions for them; they don’t understand that ‘you’ are the problem and will inevitably burst into the tears that are so heavily feared because they think they have done something wrong by being on the plane.

Third on the list is the bathroom situation. In general, toddlers are human garbage disposals. My kids eat and drink CONSTANTLY, which results in many, many potty trips and diaper changes in a day. Now, my 3 year old is independently potty trained but new situations can throw her (and any toddler) completely off her game. Generally, when we take a road trip or even spend a day running errands as a family, her poor little intestines go on lockdown. She’ll pee in a public bathroom, but that’s where she draws the line. For a day of travel, this is fine but there is going to be some amount of terror about having to use the airplane bathroom if needed so… who even knows if we’ll make it before there’s an accident? The one year old is still very much in diapers, which is infinitely easier… unless there is a BM in mid-air. You can’t leave your kid sitting in their own filth. You also dread trying to change their diaper in the tiny airplane bathroom with really no flat surface. You don’t want to change them in your seat row for many reasons, but mostly kindness to the other passengers and fear of pedophiles… So, what do you do? I mean, obviously you suck it up and wrestle them into submission into the tiny bathroom but somebody is walking out of that little stall emotionally broken and sweaty (probably the adult).

There are also some experiences that aren’t necessarily unique to my little family, but they are things we have to prepare for pretty much any time we go out in public, and some that we have to consider specifically when traveling. The biggest general outing concern for us is food. Our three-year old is allergic to peanuts and eggs, so we have to make sure that any time we travel anywhere, she’s going to be able to eat safely. We also have to make sure that we’re prepared in the event of accidental cross-contact with an allergen. As food-allergy parents, this has become pretty routine for us, but when we’re traveling we have to make sure that whoever has the EpiPen doesn’t walk away with it, which is tricky because it’s usually in my purse and I don’t ever even think about leaving that somewhere other than my person. There’s also the mobility factor. Both girls walk, but they have teeny tiny legs and anyone who has gone anywhere with toddlers will tell you that they will sit and not budge when those little legs get tired. I don’t know about you, but carrying a 30+ lb child through an airport sounds atrocious to me. Do we bring the stroller wagon? What kind of maneuverability will we have with that? Do we bring both strollers? One stroller? If we bring two strollers, how are we moving the luggage? We also have to consider the boredom factor. Our three year old has a tablet and headphones, but we really try to leave that as a last resort; once the tablet is on she is a complete zombie all day and you are in for a whole meltdown when the battery dies or it’s time for bed. They each get to bring one doll or stuffed animal, we have coloring books, crayons, books, snacks…. I mean every time we go anywhere we are ready… but there will be a time where they don’t want anything we have, or they both want to use both blue crayons at the same time, or they are just flipping tired but they are out of their element and can’t settle enough to nap.

Do we bring the stroller wagon? Do we bring the strollers? One stroller? If we bring two strollers, how are we moving the luggage?
Candice

If all of these things are such pain points with air travel, why don’t we just drive? Well, sometimes we can’t. And sometimes 4 hours of combined airport and flying time seems YEARS shorter than a 6 hour car ride when you have kids. Car travel has all of these same issues… plus the cost of gas, tolls, long stretches with no access to a bathroom, and mom gets carsick. While you’re in the car, the kids cannot move and will eventually start causing a ruckus because they NEED to move. They will pee at a rest stop (or get a diaper change) and you will ask them repeatedly if they need to go again before you get in the car and they will tell you no. 20 minutes down the road, they will need to poop and it will be 60 miles until the next rest stop. They will drop their stuffed animal and you won’t be able to reach it because it rolled under the driver’s seat and they will scream bloody murder until they break you or they pass out. They will spill their snack or their juice all over themselves and have to sit in it until we get where we’re going and you will hear “Mommy, I need a new shirt,” every 3-5 minutes until that happens. They will fall asleep in an awkward carseat position and then wake up crying because their neck hurts. The big one will scream at the top of her lungs because the little one is “looking at her.” Honestly, if the drive is over 4 hours in a car and I have a choice, we are absolutely flying. Sorry not sorry.

Traveling with toddlers is exhausting. Plain and simple. It’s exhausting for us, them, and for our fellow travelers. We get it. We are trying to make it as smooth as possible for all of us involved because it’s also extremely rewarding. Seeing your kid be so proud of themselves for conquering a fear, seeing their curiosity, watching them learn in real-time… it’s honestly the coolest thing. Again, I know not everyone loves kids and I’m not telling you that you have to, I’m just suggesting that maybe instead of seeing a small child on a plane and thinking “Oh great…” you try thinking “I’m going to watch a human being learn something today.” It’s not going to stop them from annoying you; they annoy me, and I’m their mom. But maybe, just maybe, it might make the trip just a little bit more pleasant for all of us.

A confirmed 1 in 7 women suffer from PPD

By nowwhatblog.com

On 8 June 2023

In The Other F Word

A confirmed 1 in 7 women suffer from PPD (source: Postpartum Support International).

Think about that statistic for a minute. One in seven is only the confirmed statistic, derived from women who are diagnosed and treated for PPD; it says nothing of the number of women who suffer in silence. We all know 7 mothers. My mom, my grandmothers, my aunts, my sister-in-laws, my first cousins, myself; my family boasts at least 14 mothers, which means a minimum of two mothers in my family have suffered from PPD.

During your pregnancy, you hear so many cliches about the pure love you feel the first time you hold your baby, how the loss of sleep is worth it, the joy you feel while breastfeeding, but you know what you don’t hear enough about? How empty your body feels afterward. How you’ll sob on the way home from the hospital. How you’ll resent your partner because you’re breastfeeding at 3am and it feels like your nipples are being tattooed and all your partner can do to help is rub your shoulders and bring you water. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love being a mom. I have longed for motherhood since I was 3 years old, and maybe that contributed to the romanticized ideals I had. My mother was very honest with me about how hard new motherhood could be, and as much as I had prepared for it, I still wasn’t ready for PPD. I am 1 in 7.

I am 1 in 7.
Candice

In November 2018, Carlos and I were newly engaged and both incredibly anxious to start a family. We had both wanted children for as long as we could remember and were over the moon at the prospect of being able to raise them as partners. Due to my history of irregular ovulation and the fact that I had been on birth control for over a decade straight, we decided that when it was time for my IUD to come out, we would just let pregnancy happen organically from there. My depression and anxiety had been manageable for years, so at the time I was not taking medication, nor was I in treatment. I thought that my IUD was non-hormonal, but that was a misunderstanding on my part; Skyla is actually a “low dose” hormonal birth control. This misunderstanding was the first step in a long journey down the road to PPD. Hindsight is 20/20.

So now I’m engaged (not for the first time) and having anxiety about sharing the news (because it wasn’t the first time), potentially able to get pregnant (producing more anxiety), and experiencing hormonal changes (causing mood swings and weight gain, stimulating my depression). Fun times for Carlos, yeah? See, I tried REALLY hard to just let pregnancy happen organically, but my mental state wasn’t allowing that to happen. I was still unmedicated, not receiving treatment, and now secretly tracking my ovulation behind my fiance’s back because I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant. I hadn’t had a period in over a year, so I sincerely had no idea when I might ovulate and yet I was obsessed. The first time I got my period, I cried because in my unwell mind, it was the first of what was sure to be a long line of failed attempts.

The second month of trying, I was so freaking sure I was pregnant. I still had no idea when to expect my

period (because it’s never been regular) so I took a test. It was negative, but I didn’t believe it so I waited a few days and took another. Still negative. A few days later and Aunt Flo barged in, an unwelcome guest in a surely barren home. I couldn’t get out of bed that day and sent the standard “not feeling well” text to my boss that those of us with mental illness rely so heavily upon to avoid the judgement of exposing our mental illness. Still, I was secretly tracking my period, trying to figure out when I would ovulate next, and shutting my partner out entirely. (Shoutout to my best friend Amber for being there and trying to keep me rooted in reality since I wouldn’t talk to anyone else.)

January 2019. Month 3 of trying. I had bought a stretchy New Year’s dress in November in case I was pregnant. I was not, so I got hammered (too hammered to potentially get pregnant). My period came, and I finally decided to come clean about my secret obsession. Fun fact: it wasn’t a secret, Carlos was just respecting my choice and knew that I would talk to him when I was ready with an option on stepping in if I went too dark. So I agreed to stop the obsessive tracking and to stop putting pressure on both of us and just TRY, one month at a time, to let pregnancy happen. So February rolls around, and my period is late-ish. It’s hard to tell because it’s irregular, right? Plus, I’ve got cramps so it has to be coming any day now. Amber thinks I should take another pregnancy test, but I’m still pretty positive I’m barren so I tell her if I don’t get my period within a week, I’ll take a test. The next Friday we’re getting ready for work and I HAVE to pee while Carlos is in the shower. Well shit, while I’m here I guess I’ll pee on a stick. Direct quote: “HOLY CRAP.” Cut to me shoving the pee stick right in Carlos’ face. My husband is not a reactionary human. It’s just not who he is. He stoically watches entire films only to tell me afterwards how funny he thinks they were. I should not be surprised or alarmed when his response to having a positive pregnancy test is “Cool,” but of course in my current mental state, it hurts.

I know it’s too soon to tell anyone, but I need someone to be noticeably excited, so I call my mom (also not a reactionary person, nor particularly great at communicating emotions); she says “Try not to gain too much weight.” I promise you, dear reader, this is not a dig at my mother. This is my mother saying “I’ve been pregnant in my 30s and you share my gene pool so I know how high your risk is for gestational diabetes, please take care of your health.” But when you’re over the moon happy, depressed, and anxious all at the same time… ouch. So I tell Amber and finally I have someone to squeal with, but in the back of my mind is that nagging residual hurt from Carlos and my mom and it continues to eat at me throughout the pregnancy.

Y’all, being pregnant was such a mixed bag for me.