On being a Mommy Martyr

Being as involved in the natural birth/parenting world as I am, I am constantly seeing great articles about giving birth at home, cooking organic food for your family, not vaccinating, and homeschooling. What I don't see however, are enough articles and posts about the self-sacrificing rut I like to call "Mommy Martyrdom".

Many moms, and especially first time moms, throw themselves into the worlds of their children with enough force to knock of their pantyhose. Myself included. When my son was born, I became a stay at home mom. I quit my job, and filled my days with OMSI, playdates, the Zoo, the Children's Museum, parks, strolls, activities, you name it, I did it. My kid was my whole world. He became my identity. I was no longer "Cierra", I was "Rowan's Mom". Whenever I left the house, I had the giant diaper bag full of snacks and other assorted items I would need throughout the day to make sure my kid was content. I didn't even have my own purse anymore. I spent more time getting him and all his crap ready than I did on myself. I became "that mom". You know the one I'm talking about. Don't even pretend you don't. The mom in the grocery store wearing gross jeans, an over sized sweatshirt, hair up in a ratty ponytail, no makeup, and glasses. Rowan was already a pretty great kid in public so I never had to worry about looking out of control, but I definitely looked like I had given up. I did everything around the house as well. I spent hours making my own baby food, I kept the house as clean as I could, I tried to find wholesome and educational things to do with Rowan. If I got sick, I would simply buck up and plow through it. It would take me three times as long to get better, but I didn't have the luxury of calling in sick and taking a whole day to rest and heal.

And little by little, I lost myself more.

The person I was before I was a mom became a shadow. I rode motorcycles  I belly danced, I spent time with my single, non-parent friends. I took classes, went on hikes, painted. I did STUFF. I did lots of STUFF. All of that got put in the closet the day Rowan was born. I rarely did anything for myself. Everything I did was for my family. If I did spend time away, I spent most of that time checking my phone, making sure everything was already. I was wracked with guilt for being away from home. I felt like I was abandoning my family by going to a birthday party or having a drink with a friend.

I think I finally "woke up" around 2 years after I gave birth. I finally did something for myself and joined a roller derby league. Slowly but surely, I started gaining my identity back. I started taking extra time to put on makeup again. (and fuck you to anyone who wants to give me shit about that. It makes me feel GOOD.) I tossed out my ratty clothes and started buying cute, new clothes. I would go to events and try to ignore that nasty feeling that I should be at home, and when I actually got home, it turned out my family functioned just fine without me.

I will admit, I delved into it a little too much at first. I spent too much time away from home, and trying to find a balance between my social life and my home life was really hard. Especially considering my derby league wasn't exactly the most supportive environment to those who have kids. My requirements for getting drafted to a team were strict, and made it really hard to fulfill while still making my family a priority. I eventually got the handle of it, though, partially due to leaving that league and helping start a new one, one that caters more to families and busy lives and still makes it possible to skate. I learned how to say "no" and make my family a priority, but also stay involved and help the league.

My whole point to this blog post is: Do not sacrifice your identity to become a mother. You can be a GREAT mom (or dad!) while still maintaining your sense of self. Your kid is NOT you. You are you. You have wants, needs, interests, passions, and talents. Utilize all of them. In fact, your child will grow up watching a parent who is independent  self sufficient, and does what they need to do to be happy. And they will emulate that. Make your facebook picture an actual picture of you, instead of a picture of your kid. Post shit about your day or what you are doing, not what your kid is doing. Stop sacrificing your health and happiness for your kids' happiness because guess what? They're going to be happy anyway! Stop worrying about looking like a mom, and be yourself again. I'm covered in tattoos, I have crazy hair sometimes (I even had a mohawk for awhile) and I have gauged ears. I wear makeup every day, even if I don't leave the house. I'm goofy, I dance with my kid in public, and I laugh at people who choose to scowl at me for not being a "normal" mom. I play roller derby, I've been an extra on a tv show, I take photography classes, I'm even considering trying Krav Maga and Aerial Acrobatics.

And I love it. I love my life, I love my happy, healthy, unique son. He's goofy and silly with me.  It's much more fun being this way than before, when I was so stressed out about being the perfect mom. I can never be the perfect mom, I will fuck up from time to time. I will make mistakes. Even today I caught myself berating myself because Rowan has a cavity and I don't brush and floss his teeth twice a day. Whatever! I try the best I can! Those teeth are going to fall out anyway and when he's old enough, he'll be brushing his own damn teeth!

Get your fucking identity back, it's the best thing you can do for your kid, I promise.

So, a lot has gone on in the days since I posted last. Commenting on a friend's blog sorta reminded me I have one of my own. Usually I try to make them somewhat lighthearted but this one won't be.

Over the summer, I worked my ass off and lost almost 40 pounds. It was amazing. I eliminated all simple carbs from my diet, worked out at least an hour a day, and within a couple of months I had already dropped 20 pounds. It was amazing. It gave me motivation to keep going. Once July hit, I was at my smallest I have ever been, even before having Rowan, at 129 pounds.

Then everything came crashing down.

The depression that had been lurking in the dark corners of my conscious mind suddenly made it's appearance. I won't elaborate as to what, since I only want my closest friends to know, but there was a situation that I engaged myself in that, I believe, was partially caused by my depression and the thoughts that were circulating around in my head. I don't blame my mental illness completely, but it certainly made things worse than they would have been, had I been in a normal, healthy state of mind. I look back at myself and who I was then and I don't even recognize that person. Pictures from that time period show a happy, thin person, but all I see is that darkness lurking there behind my eyes. It all came to a head in November, after I moved out of my house and left my family. I had started cutting again in September, right after I moved out. I had so many intense emotions, and so much internal guilt for what I was going through, and I had nowhere to put any of it. I was punishing myself. I finally cut myself so bad, I should have gotten stitches but didn't go to the hospital. I told a friend of mine, Mo picked me up and took me to the ER and I landed myself in the psych ward. From there, the nurses recommended I admit myself into an intensive outpatient therapy program at Providence, and I started going to group therapy every day, six hours a day, 5 days a week. I did that for 8 weeks.

The first few weeks were rough. I was numb, I felt no joy in anything. I was constantly berating and punishing myself for my feelings. I was conflicted about moving back home, I couldn't trust my own feelings anymore because they had betrayed me so bad for so long. I cried nearly every day, at the drop of a hat. Any feelings of happiness or joy were completely squashed, because I felt I did not deserve them. I  had several crisis meltdowns, in which people tell me they had whole conversations with me that I do not remember. The things I said to them didn't make sense. It was a struggle to get up every day and go to therapy, but somehow I managed it. Maybe because I felt like I had nothing else. I had ruminative thoughts swimming through my head: "You're a terrible person. You're a failure as a mother and as a wife. You're selfish, lazy, stupid, and fat. Not to mention ugly. All you do is cause pain and suffering to those around you. You fuck up everything good that happens to you and it would be best for the world if you took yourself out of it. Rowan is going to grow up fucked up as well, just like you, if you stick around. It's better if you were not here because everyone you know would be much happier without you." I felt heavy, just walking around and holding my head up was an effort. I wanted to lay down and die. Just curl up and let myself go. I cried because I didn't do it.

Slowly, slowly, I started pulling out of it. A combination of many skills and tools I learned from therapy helped me keep the meltdowns at bay. I still felt joyless, but I didn't feel hopeless. I moved back home in December. I got a car. I got a job. Things started looking up. Mo and I started attending couple's counseling together to try to work out issues we had suppressed for far too long. Life is not any easier than before, but I have learned perspective and context, and now it seems more manageable.

My depression is back in its corner, lurking. It is still waiting to come back out, and sometimes I let it. Sometimes I get so tired of keeping it at bay, I just give up and let it consume me. Those days, I sob, I cry, I punish myself (not physically anymore) and I berate myself. I still struggle to find joy in my every day life. I am envious of people who naturally find it without effort. I have to work really fucking hard not to explain away the little things that are supposed to give me joy, like my family. I will literally find a reason to convince myself not to have happiness in those things. It's more of an effort to remember why those things bring me happiness than to explain why they don't. And it's all about me, not them. If I find happiness snuggling with Rowan, the thought "you are fucking him up right this SECOND by being near him" is always there. It's a fight to push that away and enjoy the moment.

Maybe someday it will get easier. Maybe someday I will finally be free of the need to physically injure myself to place my emotions somewhere. Maybe someday I will be able to feel joy and happiness freely, without convincing myself I don't deserve them. I really hope so.

There is a lot of heavy stuff in this post, which I almost didn't write because of the personal nature of it. But I firmly believe we need to be more open about mental illness and the effects of it, and I want people to read it and come away with more understanding of what goes on inside a depressed person's head. The world needs to know more about mental illness, it NEEDS to be talked about, not shushed away like it's the 1950's and something to be ashamed about. Depression happens in about 25% of Americans. That means 1 out of 4 people you see on the street are struggling with the same thing I just wrote about. Half of Americans are currently in counseling for one reason or another. Depression, mental illness, etc, are all part of our daily lives. It's not something to be ashamed of, or something to hide away and pretend it isn't there. It's something that needs to be openly discussed, as if it were normal, because it is. If less people were ashamed of their illness, there would be less people suppressing their feelings and more people seeking help.

There are SO MANY good resources out there to get help for depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc, that nobody should be going without if they need it. Hell, there were homeless people in my outpatient therapy, so it can be done regardless of income. NAMI (National Alliance for Mental Illness) is free, and there is a group therapy for any mental issue you can think of.

Life will get better for me. I know that now, in my rational mind. I have a hard time remembering it during a crisis, but I am positive I will get there. I just need to be patient with myself and lean on my loved ones to help me get there.

An open letter to my teenage self...

As I near age 30, I look back at myself throughout my teenage years and literally fucking cringe. Although completely normal, I was a serious hot mess. If I could go back in time, sit myself down, and have a serious man to man talk with myself, here's what I would say:

At 13: I know you're totally embarrassed by your family and hate hanging out with them. That's normal and I wouldn't ask you to change it. But please, treasure them. In a few years that family will no longer be whole and your heart will break.

Also, yes the internet is a new and wonderful thing, but just be careful mm'kay?

Don't listen to the bullies. They're mean spirited and they will crush that very thing that makes you, YOU. You are a bright, funny, unique person and if you let them get to you, it's going to hurt you for a long long time. Lean on your friends because they love you and they'll help you get through it.

At 14: You can't have a new best friend every 2 months. One night of uncontrollable laughter and pixie sticks does not equate a best friend. Similarly, one disagreement over something trivial doesn't mean the bestie-ship is over. You CAN have more than one best friend, as each person brings a different and awesome thing to the friendship. This is something I didn't learn until MUCH later in life and it's caused a lot of problems. Also, it is perfectly fine and normal to have crushes on girls. PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy, don't suppress it because your religious upbringing says it's wrong. It's not! Love yourself, and remember that love knows no gender and if you want to ask that girl to the dance, DO IT! Many people love both boys and girls, and the longer you deny that this is you, the more bitter you will be when you're older.

DO YOUR HOMEWORK!! I know your lame parents seem like they hate you for making you do it, but this really is teaching you valuable lessons for later in life. It's not the actual lesson material, it's teaching you about deadlines and being responsible in making them. I still haven't learned how to do this properly.

At 15: Not every boy you encounter is your dream guy. GURL STOP. YOU DID NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM. You are 14 and your hormones are raging and all you see are boys (and girls, see above) around you. Please be more selective.

Don't count the lines in the plays you are cast in. Don't be miserable for too long when you DON'T get a part in the plays. Disappointment is a part of life even for adults. Learn to channel those feelings into kicking ass the next time around. ALSO, that guy you keep making out with backstage? He's a douche and as soon as the play is over he'll want no part of you. Kick him to the curb, right now.

At 16: This move to Oregon is going to be the best thing that ever happened to you. I'm so glad you are excited for this change. Don't lose touch with the people you left behind though, otherwise it will take YEARS to get back in contact with them and you'll have lost a lot in that time. It's called social networking and it's at least 5 years away still.

When you get to your new school, you will get sucked in to the "I don't care what anyone thinks so much, that I'm going to make every effort I can to show them how NOT like them I am."

Now, while I totally get this mindset and support it wholeheartedly, your method of approach makes you look like a fool. I love how unique you are and how you have no desire to fit in with the popular crowd. That is such a great personality trait to have. But do not let it define your life. Keep dancing, making art, loving, living, and really HONESTLY do not care what people say about you.

Get off your ass! For God's sake stop lounging around eating marionberry pie in your room and do something active. Your metabolism is still at its peak and if you let it go to waste now, you'll have a hell of a time keeping weight off as an adult.

Listen to your mom. She's right. About everything.

At 17: Alright, almost an adult now. You are becoming more aware of the life outside of your little high school bubble. You are starting to see the world for how it really is. You'll be graduating high school this year.

You met your future husband over the summer. I honestly don't know what to tell you here. On one hand, I want to tell you to run, fast, the other way, and don't look back. On the other hand, I believe your experience with this will shape who you are and how you deal with life from now on. I really do think you love him, for now. I guess just be careful. Let the guy down easy in a couple of years. Don't leave him in the same way I did. And don't start dating again until the process is long over, otherwise you'll introduce drama that will make things so much worse.

Find a job right after graduating. You'll move out of the house the minute you turn 18 and not having a job will mean living in your car and then couch surfing in some very uncomfortable situations until you can get that first apartment.

This is the year you'll go to France. And I have to say this is my biggest regret: Take LOTS OF PICTURES! Keep a journal and document every little thing you do. You have a terrible memory and everything you did will fade away until you are left with scraps. And don't puss out because you're sick and sit in the hotel while everyone else goes to the top of the Eiffel Tower. That is an idiotic thing to do.

At 18: Guess what? You STILL don't know everything. You think you know all about how life works and what your plan is, but you won't have it figured out even at 30. Life is a continuous surprise... don't nail down your future or commit to any ideas right now because they can (and should!) change. And don't judge others who are travelling on a different life path or think THEY know everything. Don't say the things you are thinking in your head, and just remember everyone has a different future set for them.

At 19: Happy Marriage! Or not... that's for a future date. Right now, learn as much as you can about living life on your own. You are still struggling to figure it out. Get it together. Pay your damn bills on time. Watch your credit closely and DO EVERYTHING you can to keep it in good standing. Even if it means not spending money on things you want for awhile. Your credit will come back to haunt you again and again, and you are already setting bad spending habits for yourself. Save that shit, stop buying crap because guess what? You won't even know where it is 5 years from now.

So that's pretty much the best advice I can give. Most of it is all stuff I wish I had paid attention to when I was younger because it would have helped me set better habits for myself as an adult. I'm sure 10 years from now I'll be writing the same open letter to my 20's self, but if we're being honest here, I really do know everything. :-)

Peace out.

Yay Fall!!

Fall is here and I'm so fucking excited. Not only does it have the BEST weather, but fall is also host to Halloween and Thanksgiving. Two of my handful of favorite holidays. Thanksgiving is a given right? FOOD. I fucking LOVE food!


I love Halloween for many unknown reasons. Is it the spooky atmosphere? Could be. Is it the air of mystery surrounding the holiday? Possibly. Is the the opportunity to dress up in an awesome costume and drink till I can't say vowels anymore? Likely. I've been slowly decorating my house, but over the years my decorations have gotten pretty scant. Mostly they've gotten lost or broken and I've never really had any money to replace them. I bought a couple things this year and plan to make a couple more, but I'm not going to go crazy.

What I'm really looking forward to is Thrill the World on the 29th. Every year, thousands of people all over the U.S. (and I think the world...) gather in public places to dance Thriller. There's always at least 100 peeps in Pioneer Square here in Portland doing it all at the same time. I've always wanted to do it, but could never find the time to actually learn the dance.

This year is different.

I already know half of it, and we're still a month away. My friend Sam came over the other night and we spent TWO HOURS working on it! I can't wait to start working on my costume.
I saw some really kickass youtube videos on zombie makeup I'm itching to try.

I'm still on the search for a cute costume for Rowan. He loves Cars and Ironman but I can't find a relevant costume small enough for him anywhere. He may need to be a generic dinosaur or something. This will be the first year I get to take him trick-or-treating so I'm looking forward to it. Also looking forward to doling out candy to him one piece at a time so he doesn't overload on sugar.

AHAHAHAHAAAAAA......

Just kidding. I'm NOT looking forward to it because as soon as he figures out what that shit is, he won't leave me alone about it until it's gone. I anticipate many, MANY meltdowns in the future.

Ah, kids.

The definition of ludicrous

I feel the need to write about how my night went tonight, if only for the fact that I haven't had a night this fucking stupid in a long time.

I'm going to preface it by saying that the raw diet didn't last 30 days, but I did learn a lot that I can apply when cooking my food. I do still try to eat as much raw as I can, but my pans are once again getting used. I think this is in part to the fact that I didn't have much equipment available, and with Mo not working I didn't want to run out and buy a dehydrator, spiral slicer, and a food processor; three items that are needed for almost every raw recipe.

Now back to the subject at hand...

My evening actually started out really nice. I met a friend of mine on Marine Drive and we had ourselves a nice little skate with the sunset. We logged 7.33 miles in 1 hour and 7 minutes. Not too damn shabby. I planned on taking Rowan to Fred Meyer right after and picking up ingredients for dinner (chicken enchiladas). Little did I know, my night was about to go down, and go down FAST.

I made it to the store parking lot and reached for my wallet, then realizing it wasn't there. I searched all around the car and concluded that I must have left it at home.

Well, fuck.

So I drove home (Rowan tantrum #1) and searched the house for it. No dice. I searched the car. No dice. I went back in the house and searched again. No. Fucking. Dice. I finally unfolded the stroller and found my wallet in there. Halle-fuckin-lluyah!!

I drove back to the store and got Rowan inside. As we passed the Jelly Belly stand, he pointed them out and I asked him if he wanted them for a potty treat. He got really excited, you guys. I mean, this kid got some serious fucking conniptions over those beans. So I told him we'd come back after getting the rest of our stuff to get them. After I got everything checked and in the bag (forgetting the jelly beans AND the rotissere chicken for the enchiladas... but I wouldn't realize it until later), I opened my wallet only to realize my fucking debit card is not in it. "Well where the fuck is it?!" I asked myself. I handed my bag over to the U-Scan chick and explained my card was in my car and I needed to go get it. She rolled her eyes and I could practically HEAR her think: "Likely fucking story, deadbeat."

So I packed Rowan up and went back to the car to look for my card. I searched the whole damn car, no card. Fuck. So I plugged Ro into his carseat (Rowan tantrum #2, now with biting!) and drove BACK HOME AGAIN to look for my card. I went inside and there it was, mocking me from the kitchen counter top. I growled inhumanely, swiped the card off the counter, and stomped back to the car again. I debated leaving Rowan home this time but he was still in his seat and I didn't want to deal with another tantrum by my leaving. "It'll just be a quick in and out deal this time." I thought to myself.

Back at the store again, we walked inside and this time I remembered the jelly beans and the chicken I still needed to get. So we went back to the Jelly Belly display and Rowan picked out the flavor he wanted. I filled the back and we proceeded to walk away. We got about 10 steps when he realized he ACTUALLY DIDN'T want that flavor. (Rowan tantrum #3) I picked him up and said he picked this flavor and he'll stick with it. That's when he knocked the bag out of my hand and spilled the beans (HA! hahaha.) all over the floor. At that point, my frustration level was code fucking red. I managed to carry my crying toddler to the deli to pick up the chicken, and because this is the BEST FUCKING NIGHT EVER, they were totally out. "Fine." I said to myself, trying to breathe and find my zen spot or whatever, "They make shredded chicken in those plastic tubs. They aren't the best for me and they are loaded with sodium but they will work for dinner." So again, I carried my squirmy, screamy toddler over to the meat section and guess what? THEY WERE ALL OUT OF FUCKING SHREDDED CHICKEN.

This warranted an emergency call to my husband.

He picked up the call on the third ring, and the conversation went like this:

Mo: Hi honey.

Me:......hi.......

Mo: You're having a bad night, aren't ya.

Rowan: Potty treat?

Me: Like you wouldn't fucking believe.

Mo: So how about this... how about you just pick up dinner somewhere. Anywhere you want. And that way you don't have to cook.

Rowan: Potty treat?

Me: Excellent. Burger King it is.

You guys, I fucking love Burger King.

So, excited by the opportunity to get my favorite fast food, and already planning my meal, I went back to the U-Scan to finally pay for my bag of food I had tried to pay for earlier. Rowan brought up the potty treats and I had to firmly tell him he spilled them and was mean to me so now he can't have them. (Rowan tantrum #4).

I somehow managed to finish up and as I'm carrying my stupid heavy bag in one hand, and holding Rowan's hand with the other, he brings up the potty treats again. (Rowan tantrum #5). He decided to collapse his knees in protest of us leaving without his precious fucking jelly beans and as he hit the floor he screamed out "OWWWWIEEEEE!!! OWWWIEEEE!!!"

Great.

Fucking great.

Now as I'm trying to get him to stand up again, people all around me are staring with a mixed reaction of sympathy and horror. I looked like a fucking child abuser. I once again picked him up and lugged him the rest of the way out the door, through the parking lot, and to the car. I managed to get him plugged back into his carseat and drove away to Burger King. (Rowan tantrum #6, you know, the fucking potty treats...)

I'm so much happier now. Now that I've stuffed my gullet full of delicious burgery goodness. I don't care how many grams of fat and calories are in those things, I feel blissful.

So there really wasn't any point to this rant, only to express why this was the worst night I've ever had, and why there is a hot bubble bath calling my name right. this. fucking. second.

Peace out.

(ps, Burger King got my order wrong. **insert maniacal, insane, angry laughing here**)

HOLY SHIT IT'S BEEN ALMOST A YEAR??

I sincerely apologize to the whopping 3 people who follow this blog.

See what I mean??

Look at the date of the last post. Now look at this one's date. Sheesh, this is going to take some serious self-discipline if I'm going to post here on a regular basis....