Charity and donations are not just for the needy...

In 32 years of life, I've accumulated A LOT of stuff.  

I remember when I was pregnant with my daughter having a dream that I was in an attic filled with baby clothes from my own infancy.  They were hung up on hangers, organized by age and size, season and color... it was an OCD sufferer's dream come true.  But for me it was frightening... what should I do with all this stuff?

The house I own is cozy; in other words, it's rather small.  I tell myself daily that a big house doesn't equal a lot of love.  There's lots of love in our walls, and while there may be toys and dirty clothes strewn throughout the hallways at times, and the table is full of clutter and mail, the important things are taken care of... important things being the kids, my spouse, and myself.

In preparing for baby man to arrive, I've been trying for months to combine the two older children into one room to set up a crib and other items in the "nursery" room.  I've had 9 months to do this, and as the perfect procrastinator I wait until Month 8 to really get started.  My picture should be in the dictionary underneath "procrastination."  I can make up excuses and reasons why it didn't get done, but the reason is I'm a procrastinator.  I'm QUEEN Procrastinator... bow down.

Today we organized our accumulated things: some things I'm taking to a half priced book store to try to sell, and other things I've organized into donation boxes headed for Goodwill or other charities in the area.  Every time I threw something in the donation box, I uttered the words "We could itemize, maybe we could write it off" and other variations of that thought.  I struggled putting things in the box.  Maybe I could sell it... maybe I could get some kind of cash... $5 is something isn't it?  

Despite the fact that in my heart and the sane part of my brain I know that a donation is a wonderful thing, I struggle so much with just getting rid of things.  I struggle not because I don't know anyone in need... I know so many people in need of clothing, and toys, and other items that I have just sitting that it's almost a sin for me not to donate everything... but I struggle because as much as I hate to admit it, I have needs too. 

And my own needs tend to be logical, and scream a lot louder than my heart can.  So as I struggled, I focused only on my needs, not on anyone else’s.  

There's not a lot of "stuff'" I need or want... but I want to pay off bills... large bills.  Large bills that make month to month living difficult.  Large bills that loom over my family and I like shadows and make any financial advance or gain I find seem useless in the long run.  

I have a few writing contracts which would help us build up our savings... if we could pay off the bills.  

I can't afford to go back to work because of daycare, and nor do I want to... so I find ways to make it work.  But if I could just pay off those large things that loom over me, and focus on the day to day expenses, things would be so much easier.  Those I can handle... the looming feelings are what keep me awake at night. 

But those are my needs - and I know I'm not alone in that need and struggle.  If I was alone, there wouldn't be swap pages on Facebook, or craigslist, or garage sales.  If I was the only one who could benefit from extra cash, there wouldn't be ads in the paper or consignment shops.  I know I'm not the only one... but admitting that need makes me feel so ashamed I just want to hide.  And the guilt is made even worse by the fact that, overall, I'm not struggling.

Yes, I might need a few new pieces of clothing, but there are others who need a whole wardrobe.  I'd like a new comforter, but there are people who are freezing and need blankets in the winter.  I have blankets, and clothing, and toys and other things that I'm not using that I can give away.  I might need extra cash to pay looming bills, but there are others in the same boat that may be even worse off than I am.  I'm not alone, and I'm certainly not in desperation... but there are people out there who are.

Upon analyzing this, I realized it doesn't matter if I can deduct these donations.  It doesn't matter if I try to sell them and fail, and end up donating everything.  What matters is that, in the end, I'm helping someone else.  I'm giving a blanket to someone who needs one.  I'm creating an opportunity for education.  

While I may not get a monetary return, I'm actually donating to myself.  Getting rid of the stuff, clearing space to create more love, helps me by reducing the stress I've accumulated with the stuff.  

I need more space.  By donating things, the space in my house is increased.  Not for storage of other things or for new items, but I'm creating more space for love.  I'm creating more space for my children to play, more space for peace, and more space for time with the things that really matter.  

Making a donation is not only providing someone in need with hope, it’s another way of providing myself with hope, and creating more space in my life to fill with love for my family and provide for a better future.  

And while it's hard to know that I have looming bills that need taken care of that add stress to our lives, I also am reminded that I have a home, and blankets, and clothing.  I have things to donate, others don't.

I can spare my stress and increase their happiness in one motion.

Regardless of the outcome, in my heart I know that if I donate these things I'll be making space for someone else to fill their house with love.  Love is a blanket, or a new shirt.  Love is a job opportunity, or shoes on your feet.  Love can be anything, and the more love I give out, the more I'll be able to give to my family and get in return.  

Mean Girls of Motherhood

Labor Day was less than a month ago (from this post, on September 27th... I cannot believe it is going to be October in 3 days).  That weekend, I'd stayed behind while the remainder of my family (Spouse, Child 1 and Child 2) traveled to visit his parents.  I planned on attending the Labor Day Rally To Improve Birth, but what I had not planned on was speaking at the event.

This may not seem like the biggest event on Earth, certainly not in terms of public speaking engagements... or even that big of a deal in general to many, but it was a big deal to me.

It's a big deal that someone felt I had something to say.  It was a big deal since anytime I can offer words, actions, or thoughts of support to another woman  I relish the opportunity.  It's a big deal to me to be given the chance to connect with others who have similar interests and passions.  It's a big deal to me to meet people with a like mind-set about birth, child-rearing, and general women's health rights beliefs,  This is important to me since I feel at times that I'm living in the adult version of Mean Girls.

For those of you who haven't seen Mean Girls, I'm not going to spoil it for you.  I am going to say you should Netflix it, and if you don't empathize with one of the characters... you might have been, or might be a mean girl... sorry.

Back at the Rally, I listened to other women speak about their experiences.  I smiled at their anecdotes, I empathized with their struggles, the whole time trying to think of ways I could support them and other women.  Ways I could make things better...

Perhaps it is this naive optimism that led me to believe I could talk about the idea of improving birth with the rest of the world, and experience the same camaraderie.  Unfortunately... I was wrong.

When I mentioned to someone that I'd spoken at the Rally, I was greeted with an eye roll and a comment about a woman "Who cried over having a C-Section?  Jeepers, I had a c-section and I was fine!  It's nothing to cry about."

It took a great deal of self-control to keep my head.  I wanted to remind this woman of the lengthy discussion she and I had engaged in not even a month earlier.  That discussion involved her first c-section, and afterward she decided that she wanted a repeat with her second child.  

Her doctors forced her to try a VBAC, despite her wishes.  This resulted in another prolonged labor with no progression, and another round of surgery that she could have been prepared for, but she wasn't.  She was exhausted from laboring, exhausted from surgery, and exhausted from not being able to have the birth she wanted.

I wanted to remind her that she had her choices taken away from her.  I wanted to remind her that this had made her very angry, and that I had supported her desire to have another c-section even if her decision was different from my own.  I wanted to yell at her and say "How dare you judge someone else for being upset over having their choices taken away from them?  You had your choices taken from you, can't you empathize?"

What I said, instead, was that the woman who spoke at the Rally wasn't "crying about having to have a c-section."  "She was upset that she had to travel so far in order to have the birth she wanted.  She was upset that her care providers weren't listening to her desires, and were trying to force her into a surgery that may have not been necessary.  She upset because her choices were taken away from her."

The conversation then changed to how a Mother's choices always aren't in the best interest of the child, with the woman using the example of a nurse at an OB/GYN's office who was electing induction at 37-38 weeks. "Sometimes mothers don't always know best."

While I agreed with this statement, and considered the elective induction at 37-38 weeks to be unnecessary and frivolous, I also felt that judging this woman was wrong.  I didn't know her history, medical condition, or the level of emotional support she'd have during labor.  I knew nothing about her.  

I did feel sorry that she lacked access to a supportive caregiver who would advise against early induction, and support her through those final weeks of pregnancy.  I felt sad that she was misinformed by the adage that "37 weeks is 'technically' full term," and didn't have a group of friends or anyone to help her make a better decision.  I felt angry that her doctor was allowing this without advising her of the risks.  But I didn't judge her - I only wished more support and more information for her.  I didn't judge her, even if in my opinion her choices were wrong... they weren't my choices.  They were hers. 

Judging women for their choices regarding birth, parenting, or anything have to do with children happens everyday.  Caregivers, Doctors, The Media... but the most abhorrent of these judgements - I feel - come from other mothers.  Other mothers who have been through similar experiences, and probably experienced similar judgements, are the primary source of repeating the very same behaviors they probably complained about.  And sometimes it's not even judgements about decisions; sometimes it's comments that are meant to inform, but really sabotage the confidence of the person on the receiving end.

It happens to every pregnant woman at least once during her 40 week long creation of life.  Sometimes it's expected because the person is "just that way," and sometimes it's completely out of the blue.  But it's almost ALWAYS from another female.  

" I was so sick for the whole 9 months I was puking constantly, have fun with that!"

"Oh, you poor thing.  I wasn't sick at all, I felt great!"

"I gained 900 pounds while I was pregnant!  Just you wait, you'll pack it on as well."

"I only gained 18 pounds, and I lost it within 6 months.  You'll get there!"

"Labor was THE WORST PAIN EVER!  I was in labor for days and it was awful.  Just sign up for the epidural now."

"I labored so fast I didn't have time for pain medicine; the doctor barely made it in to catch the baby!"

"I had a completely natural birth - no pain medicine.  You don't need it and it's so bad for you."

(Side note: those quotes above were all things I either had said to me, or heard someone say to another pregnant woman.  No joke.)

It gets worse later.  By the end of the pregnancy not only are you sick of being pregnant, you're sick to death of people judging your choices and decisions.

"You're having a home birth???  Are you CRAZY?"

"Oh, hospitals are so awful... you should just stay home and let it happen naturally."

"I hated breastfeeding - hated it.  I wish I'd never tried it."

"I tried to breastfeed, but I never had enough milk... everyone struggles with that.  It's best to just get formula now because you'll probably run out of milk before you know it."

"I breastfed for 3 years without any problem."

"You're co-sleeping?  Are you crazy?"

"You put your baby in a separate room?  Are you Crazy???"

"You're not vaccinating? Are you insane?"

"Don't you know how bad vaccines are for children?"

"Circumcision is a horrible, awful process."

"I can't believe you didn't circumcise; he's going to get made fun of later on!"

"You're going to smother that child with that wrap you are wearing.  Babywearing is dangerous!"

"That poor child in the stroller; you should wear him."

"Cloth diapering is ridiculous."

"Disposables are terrible!"

"Time out doesn't work."

"A spanking never hurt me!"

"Don't have dogs around children - they'll eat them!"

"Every child should have a pet, you're depriving them of that experience."

Stop! 

What are we doing to each other?  Scratch that... What are we trying to accomplish?  What are we hoping for by saying these things to one another?  Are we hoping to change someones' mind?  

Unfortunately, unless they're sitting on the fence, nothing you say is going to change their mind.  If they're going to breastfeed, they're going to breastfeed.  If they're going to circumcise, they're going to circumcise. And that's their choice.  You might think it's wrong/insane/stupid... but it's not your job to decide what THEY think is best for their child, or best for themselves.  If these statements are meant to inform, or encourage, or support ... there are certainly better ways of expressing those sentiments.   

But again, I ask...why do we do this to one another?  If a doctor, or  husband/partner/male said anything like this to us we'd flip out. They'd be called misogynists, or assholes... how could they possibly understand what a woman goes through during pregnancy/birth/labor/breastfeeding?

Though...at least in my experience, these and other comments said to me didn't come from men.  They came from other women.  Other women who should understand, and have been in similar situations.  Why do we do this?  Isn't being pregnant, laboring, delivering, parenting... aren't all those things difficult and frightening enough without the comments?  Isn't it hard enough to believe you're doing the right thing without someone constantly telling you how wrong you are?

I want each and every one of us to look in the mirror, admit that we all have done this to another woman, and vow to never do it again.  Instead, if we're looking to support other women in birthing decisions and parenting choices, think of more constructive ways to share your experiences or opinions.  For example...

"For me, I want a hospital birth because I want someone else to do the clean-up work. I know I wouldn't be able to resist from cleaning up something when I should be resting.  But good for you for having a home birth, I hope it goes great!"

"I couldn't breastfeed, it was too much trouble.  But I know they have support groups.. if it's important to you, look into one; they'll probably have more suggestions than I do."

See?  Not so hard... still validating your own opinion/choice, and doing it without making the other person feel bad about themselves.

I wrote a post about why I chose to VBAC, and why I would always choose to do so.  But that is me.  It was written by me, for me, and for anyone else sitting on the fence about trying to VBAC or not.  Since I wrote that, and since I attended the Rally, I really want to see someone write a post about choosing a repeat c-section.  

While I may not agree with them, I want to know what they went through during the process of choosing.  I want to know how it went, if they had support, if the doctors and nurses were kind.  I want to know if she was happy with her choice, and applaud her for sticking with it.  I want to tell her that I support her decision, and I support her right to make that choice if she feels that is what's best for her and her family.

This universal support and acceptance of the fact that while our opinions and choices may differ, our goals remain the same, is the driving force behind the #isupportyou movement on twitter.  It is the reason I feel improving birth and women's choices in birth is so important.  It's the reason I keep speaking out about my birth choices, or my parenting choices... We need to feel like we are not alone.

At the Rally a woman spoke about her experience, and she explained how moved she was by a sign that said "Peace on Earth Begins At Birth."  This is a powerful statement.  Peace begins at birth, within us, from us.  Peace begins with us extending that peace to others, encouraging them and supporting them.  Peace can only be spread by peaceful acceptance of different opinions and choices.  And I want to expand on that by adding one of my favorite quotes and standing principles in life... If we want peace on Earth, we need to initiate that.  We must be the change we want to see in the world.  

Leading

Story I wrote for a Fiction Writing class in college.  I found it, and as usually happens with my writing, decided it wasn't as bad as I originally thought, therefore I'm sharing because I'm too tired to write anything else today.

She scratches her cheek and looks out the window, feeling the warm sunlight flood through the glass onto her face.  Closing her eyes, she leans back against the pillows on the couch and sighs heavily.  “Can we go for a walk now?  It’s so nice outside,” she pleads, the sound of a whine leaking into her voice.

He sighs heavily.  “I just want to see the end of this game,” he explains in a tone that communicates his patience is wearing thin.

“The score is fifty-six to twenty,” she says in the same tone.  “I think we can surmise-“

“Just let me finish it, all right?  There’s only a minute and a half left, it won’t-“

“A minute and a half in football usually ends up being more like-“

 “Will you-just -” he growls, patience finally wearing out.  The sound of a deep breath reaches her ears as he tries to control his temper.  “We’ll go for a walk; we’ll go for an hour and a half long jaunt if it makes you happy, just please, please, let me finish watching the game,” he begs, angling his body back toward the TV.

She snorts, feeling nettled, but relents and is quiet as the sound of the TV fills her ears.  “Seahawks run with the ball, they’re at the forty, now the fifty…”

She lays her head back and closes her eyes, feeling the cat crawl onto her lap and purr contentedly as she scratches behind his ears.  “You know, I’m not the only one who wants to go for a walk,” she adds as the announcer on the TV shouts the new score.  The losing team has made a touchdown, there is a time out happening.  The walk is moving further and further away.  “Stabler wants to go to.”

“Stabler always wants to go for a walk,” he says, not looking away from the TV.  “He’s a dog.  It’s engrained in their DNA to want to walk constantly.”

“Don’t you think it’s cruel to make him wait?  He’s been sitting by the back door for the last forty-five minutes,” she notes.

“Stabler!” he shouts, listening to the dogs nails scratch along the wood floor as he races into the living room.  She rolls her eyes; he begins to scratch the dog’s ears roughly and the dog wags his tail like it’s been years since he’s laid on eyes on him.  “Who’s a good boy?  You’re a good boy… being so patient, and tolerant of my needs and-“

“Oh please,” she groans.  “All he hears is blah, blah, blah-“

“And that’s all I hear from you,” he laughs, still scratching the dog’s ears.  “See!  Look, final score…fifty-six to twenty-eight.  Now… we can go for a walk.”  He stretches his long arms and legs, arching his back against the chair before standing up. 

She nods, feeling relieved that they are finally going to get out of the house as she stands up.  The cat jumps from her lap onto the floor, scampering off under the couch to her favorite napping place. 

She’s fluffing her hair and pulling on her shoes as the television suddenly roars loudly.  Static blares over the screen, relentlessly invading the ears of everyone within the small sitting area.  “Gaaah,” she cries, clapping her hands over her ears.  “What are you doing?  Turn it off!”

“I don’t have the remote,” he explains loudly, having to shout over the sound of the static.  “Molly must have stepped on it.”

“What do you mean Molly stepped on it?  She went under the couch, wasn’t it on your chair?”

“No, I haven’t had it-“

“What do you mean you haven’t had it?”

“I haven’t had it!  I laid it down earlier when I was sitting over there, but when I moved to the chair I didn’t take it with me.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t need it; the game was on, I was going to watch it,” he explains, getting down on his knees and shoving his arm under the couch.  “I wasn’t planning on changing the channel.”

She groans.  “How many times do we need to go through this?  You have to keep track of it!   You have to put it someplace where we can-“

“Don’t lecture me, just… help me find it!”

“There’s no sense in us both floundering about looking for it, I’m going to try and turn the TV off,” she shouts, walking across the room and feeling along the edge of the set.

“You’re going to mess up all the settings!” he protests.

“No I’m not,” she explains as calmly as possible with the TV blaring over her voice.  “I just have to run my fingers along the edge until I find the button that shuts it off.”  She runs her fingers over the buttons, which are really just flat little symbols against the edge of the small TV.  She hits the wrong one.

“Tonight on Sixty Minutes,” an announcer screams, causing her to jump away from the TV and clap her hands back over her ears.

“Great!  You made it louder,” he shouts.

“At least it’s not the static,” she counters.

“Will you just help me look around for the remote?  You pushing buttons on the edge of that thing is not going to shut it off or turn it down,” he grumbles, still feeling around under the edge of the couch.

She groans and begins to shove her fingers between the cushions, searching for the thin piece of plastic that serves as their remote.  There’s a few moments of silence between them as the TV blares loudly.  “Listen, I understand how confusing this still is for you,” she says after a few moments.  “But-“

“I asked you not to lecture me.  I get it; you went through it as well and it takes getting used to,” he grumbles.  “I’m used to it now… I am.”

“It’s only been six months; you can’t get used to this type of life in six-“

“Well, I don’t exactly have a choice do I?” he shouts, getting to his feet and walking across the room.  The dog barks loudly as he runs into him; there’s a crash as he tumbles to the floor.

“Oh, God!  Are you all right?” she shouts, cautiously crossing the room until she finds where he fell.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m all right,” he groans.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine… stop trying to coddle me.”

“I’m not trying to coddle you, I’m -“

“I’m used to it!  I am… just… stupid dog...  Stabler!” he shouts, angry that he has to rely on him for assistance

The dog pads over quietly, nuzzling his hands with its cold nose.  He finds the dogs collar and holds on, crawling first to his knees and then onto his feet.  The dog moves and he follows its lead across the room back to the chair.  “The TV is still blaring.”

“I’m aware...  Sit, let me look for the remote,” she sighs, crawling onto her knees and feeling along the floor under the couch.

“How long did it take you?” he asks after a few moments, trying not to shout but finding he has to over the sound of the commercial blaring in the background.  “Nationwide is on your side!”

“How long did it take me to what?”

“To get used to it.”

“I’m still getting used to it,” she explains.  The cat hisses as her fingers accidently bump its face.  “Oh, Molly… keep your claws in…”

“’You’re still getting used to it,’” he repeats.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m still getting used to it.  It’s just like anything else in life, there’s constant change and new things to come across; as long as that goes on, ‘getting used to it’ is a state of being, not a phase.”

He nods, ruffling his hair and randomly thinking he needs a haircut as a commercial for the service rings in his ears.  “Any luck?”

“Obviously not.  The TV is still blaring.  Did you put it on the entertainment center?”

“No!” he protests.  “I swear… I was sitting over there, and then when you came in I moved 'cause I know you like to stretch out and… wha… wait,” he starts, shifting in the chair and digging in the cushions.

She waits; suddenly the volume of the TV lowers and then finally shuts off.  “It was in the chair… in the chair… the whole time?”

“No,” he replies, the sound of laughter leaking into his voice.  “It was in my pocket.”

She shakes her head, snickering as he gets to his feet and walks toward the door.  It opens and Stabler leads the pair of them outside.  The sun is warm, much warmer now that they are out in it than it was through the window.

“Okay, let’s do this,” he says confidently.

“Let me take Stabler,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because, you’re still working on using the cane,” she explains, handing him the long walking stick.

“But… If we have him, I don’t need to-“

“Yes,” she replies, pulling her glasses over her eyes even though it’s unnecessary to block the sun.  “Yes, you do.”

Letter Of Apology

While waiting to pass the time during an appointment today, I became engaged in a discussion with a stranger about my pregnancy.  Stranger became morally offended by my choice to VBAC and go through labor, taking a good 3-4 minutes to tell me how crazy I was to put myself through the pain and risk associated with it.

I honestly must say... I felt so guilty from her comments that I came home and cried.  Then, I decided I need a letter to hand out whenever I offend someone with one of my choices.  I tried to adapt it the best I could to suit not only my life, but anyone else who may have ever offend someone on accident, and wished to apologize for their behavior.  Obviously, I couldn't include all the situations we come across on a daily basis that might offend someone else, but I've covered a few that I've seen happen frequently, as well as the personal choices I've made that have offended various parties.

Fill in the blanks with your appropriate selections.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Person I Offended,

I want to express my condolences.  I had no idea my _____________________ would cause you so much inner turmoil and distraught.  Please accept my sincere apologies, I did not mean to upset you.

Breastfeeding Bottle Feeding Baby Wearing Cloth Diapering Disposable Diapering Sitting baby in the cart sitting baby in a car seat in the cart Attachment parenting Co-sleeping Staying at home Choosing to work ________________

using a doula having an epidural natural childbirth planned c-section planned induction unplanned c-section unplanned induction successful VBAC VBAC attempt Home Birth Hospital Birth Birthing Center Birth ________________

Christianity Atheism Other Religious Choice Heterosexualism Bisexualism Homosexualism Polyamory Bromance Clothing Republican Democratic  Liberal ________________

I understand how trying and frustrating it is to walk around in a world where the minor personal choices of others affect us so much.  I truly sympathize, and I hope that by you expressing your opinions and concerns, people will come to understand how they must change their lives to suit your needs.  To think that anyone else has opinions or desires about their choices... some nerve.

When I decided to (use same selection as above), I never realized it would cause so much strife.  But now that you have kindly taken the time to point out the error of my ways, I promise to go home and change my behavior as soon as I'm done handing you this note.

I'm so glad you called me out.  I'm sure that when you were in a similar ______ as I am now that you also appreciated it when people took the time to point out the insanity of your choices.

Age Group Social class Economic Situation Residence Point in existence

Thanks again, and have an AWESOME DAY!!!

Sincerely, _________________________

_________________________________________________________________________________

Please feel free to use this and adapt it to any situation where you find your choices have affected another human so much, they just had to call you on it.  We should be apologizing, because Heaven knows that none of us are different, or come from different backgrounds, or life circumstances.  Nor do we have different thoughts or opinions about life, or experiences that color those opinions.

The List

Things I've Considered More Painful Than Labor (aka: I'd rather have a baby than...)

Perception: Pain vs. Paaaaaaainnnnn...

Pain is a part of our lives - it' an unfortunate and unavoidable part of being human.  Physical pain, emotional pain, psychological pain... From the minute we exit the womb, we begin learning coping mechanisms to deal with pain.  There are so many factors that influence these mechanisms, I can't even begin to go into them.  I'd need three separate blogs, or an academic thesis, to discuss all the sociological, religious, interpersonal, and psychological factors that influence how we deal with, and respond, to pain.

When a woman becomes pregnant, after the "congratulations" and "oh, how exciting" statements cease, one of the first topics of discussion that arises is how she'll labor.  Mainly, how she'll deal with the pain of labor.  It's a legitimate discussion because being pregnant, laboring and birthing a child is - undoubtedly - painful.  But what has always baffled me is the social perception of  this pain.   I feel that perception can sometimes trick women into fearing the pain more than they should.

When I was a freshman in college, I broke the toe closest to my pinky.  I was being picked up by my parents to be taken to Des Moines for Thanksgiving holiday, and when they called to let me know they were leaving I jumped out of bed and - rushing to get the phone so I wouldn't wake up my roommate completely - kicked the edge of my bed and broke my toe.  The pain was excruciating, and that is no understatement. That literary image of tears springing to your eyes in response to the pain?  That happened.  It was definitely an eight on this pain scale (props to Hyperbole and a Half).  I will never, in my life, forget how badly that hurt.

I believe I have a pretty high pain tolerance, but I'll be the first to admit that I take Tylenol or Advil when I have a headache before trying any of the other remedies (napping, drinking water, stopping caffeine intake).  I don't like pain; I especially don't like seeing people in pain, so I'm all about relieving it in anyway shape or form.  Unfortunately, there's not much they can do for a broken toe.  Wrap it to the other supporting digits, and "try to stay off it."

Good luck with that.  I was a college freshman walking to and from class, and I was on the dance team, which meant various bouts of pain ranging from "somewhat distressing" to "holy God please cut off my toe" for the next few months.

When I was pregnant with my first child and had the "pain relief" discussion with various people, I remember being told numerous times how excruciatingly painful labor would be.  It's worst, it's horrifying... "just get the epidural now" someone said.  I had no doubt these women meant well, or that their experiences were painful, but somewhere in the far part of my brain I couldn't help but thinking "you end up with a baby, it's not superfluous, useless pain... can it really be that bad?"

We receive numerous perceptions of labor pain from our friends, families, and the media.  Unfortunately, our friends and families also receive these media images, and I have to wonder how much it affects how they viewed their pain, and subsequently how they interpreted it.  

(it is right here that I launch into my birth stories, and if you feel this is about to become TL:DR, click here)

From reading, I understood pitocin can make labor contractions more painful, and a majority of these women who were telling me what Hell childbirth was had been induced or augmented with pitocin.  But I still began to fret and worry.  Would I be able to handle this?  Can I do this?  Forget the fact that when the baby is here, I'm going to be responsible for the moral and physical well-being of a human being, or how do I breastfeed, or what about the cost of everything... this, the pain of labor, is the epitome of fear right now.  

Looking back - and maybe my view is skewed by the subsequent nine years of maturity and experience I've gained since then - I find myself questioning my own response and perception of labor pain.  I remember laboring with my first, not entirely sure where I was at or how long it was going to go on, strapped with an IV in my arm and feeling like a nuisance for asking for the birthing ball, or asking to walk around.  I remember worrying I wasn't responding "appropriately" to the pain I was feeling.  Should it be worse?  Is this the part where I'm supposed to start screaming?  God bless my husband and sister for sticking with me, because we were all in the same boat... we'd done the research on what to expect, but not how to handle it, how to process what was happening, and what to do instead of panic.  I didn't have to worry about pushing because he needed to get out, and by then I was relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of that. (Let's not go into the unknown pain of dealing with a c-section, that's another post).

With my second everything was different.  I nested like a madwoman the morning I went into labor.  I cleaned out everything - literally EVERYTHING - in my cupboards and fridge thinking I wasn't going to go into labor that day, or ever.  Why would I?  I wasn't dilated, barely effaced... the appointment was ticking down to my re-scheduled c-section, so I was almost resigned to the fact that my body didn't work properly. I should at least get ready for the baby by making sure the house is in "perfect condition" right?

Then, I went shopping.  I was at Target when my belly started to tighten.  Braxton-Hicks again ... *eye roll* ... BORING!  Even though they were rhythmic and patterned, I didn't care.  Whatever, I'm not in labor.  

I was at Wal-Mart in the cereal aisle when I finally accepted it, but not until after I had one of those textbook contractions.  The ones that take your breath away for a minute; the ones that everyone told you you'd finally get and then "you'll know" you're actually in labor.  Rather than pain, I felt excitement and nervousness as I hightailed it out of there and back home.  I called the doctor, expecting for some reason that they would either cheer, or react with shock at my announcement that I was in labor.  But instead I received very calm instructions to take a shower, lie down, stay home for a while.  All right, that's fine with me.  I'm not that excited about being strapped to that IV again so let's do this here.

I showered, I paced the house, I organized a bag, I arranged for child #1 to stay the night with Grandma and Grandpa... the whole time contracting regularly, stopping to breathe if the tightening of my belly became too much, but handling it with what I considered to be amazing strength.  Then, I decided to try laying down on the bed...

PAIN!  PAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN!  *struggles back to her feet* This is it, this is what they all talked about with the unbearable pain and torture.  I can't do this, ohgodIcan'ttoomuchpainwhat... wait a minute... I'm contracting again... and it's not unbearable...

My mind tried to process my bodies response to standing vs. lying down.  It was horrid a minute ago, well... maybe not horrid but more painful than this.  I can handle this...

I laid back down and waited for another one.  Same response:  PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN OH MY GOD PAIN!

It was at this point we left for the hospital, and I turned to my husband and started begging.  "Don't let them make me lie down, please... please don't let them make me lie down.  I don't want to lie down yet."  He nodded, a little baffled and confused by my response.  

In triage they told me I was 5 cm, and by the time they got me into a room I was at 7 cm.  I hadn't been forced to lay on my back yet.  They were hooking the IV into my arm while I was sitting on the very edge of the bed, upright and elated that I was ACTUALLY in labor, going for my VBAC, and so far it hadn't been horrible at all.  I'm awesome!

Then the nurse said "You're at 7.5, if you want drugs you better take them now," as she tried to guide me into laying down on the bed.

My husband (who I still love dearly) didn't do anything.  He didn't say "She doesn't want to lie down."  Just looked at me,  nervous and sheepish about "talking back" to the nurse.  I laid back against the pillows, and rather than sitting right back up and asserting my right to stand or at least sit-up since I hadn't had any pain medicine yet... I panicked.  I panicked because I knew what was coming.  More contractions while laying down, then the unbearable pain of transition, of pushing, of being stuck on my back with my feet behind my head while the baby I loved so much traveled painfully down the birth canal and into the world.  I panicked and begged for the drugs.

Looking back - more so now, but even after she was born - I questioned my perception and response to what happened.  My epidural kicked in, and I'd laid in bed for the next six hours laboring... getting stuck at 9.5 cm for five of those six hours.  I only fully reached 10 after my nurse checked me and said "Just start pushing, let's do this."  I felt no pain, just lots of pressure... and lots of waiting while trying to sleep.  I did feel pain during the delivery of the placenta, but that was after the epidural wore off, and they were pushing on my stomach.  No one in the room at that time gave me ANY guidance or suggestions on how to handle that pain.  In fact, they only time they addressed it was when I said "I'll push the baby out again, but you can take this thing by surgery... seriously... can you turn the epidural back up?"  This, unfortunately, resulted in me not being able to walk again for more hours.  Yay... I get to keep the catheter.  Yay... I can't stretch after lying here for so long... yay...

I've asked myself again and again, not questioning anyone else's thoughts or perceptions of pain, just mine... was it really that bad?  Did you need to beg, or if someone had been there to help you keep your sanity, could you have handled it?  Had you not had the epidural, maybe she would have been born quicker?  Would you would have been up and around sooner - or able to really sleep sooner?  Maybe if you would have just stayed calmer you could have breathed through it... or Hell, screamed through it if necessary.  How did you really feel about the pain?

Immediately, and I had done this with my first labor as well, I thought back to the broken toe.  That was gratuitous, unnecessary pain.  There was no purpose, it just hurt.  There was no logical reason for the pain other than my stupidity.  My broken toe hurt, and was stupid and useless.  And honestly, it hurt WAY WORSE than labor... even when I was laying down and contracting. That pain wasn't as bad as the broken toe.

What about the placenta? When they were pushing on you?

Yeah, that hurt pretty bad... but still not as bad as the toe.  There was no purpose for the toe pain.  Pushing on my uterus?  They were getting the placenta out.  The pain of contractions?  That was getting my baby out.  There was a purpose, it wasn't useless.

Then I made the list - which you can read if interested - of times I've been in worse pain than when laboring.  For me, it put a lot of things in perspective; and as I've started talking to other women, encouraging them to make engaged, informed choices when it comes to their labors, I've really begun analyzing the perception of pain.

I know numerous women who've been inducted, or augmented when their labor "slowed."  Some inductions were medically necessary, some of them were at a doctors suggestion because she'd gone - in his/her opinion - "too far" past her due date; some of them were personal choices of an elective induction.  Many of those who've elected induction admit pitocin contractions hurt worse than natural ones, but they've got the epidural on stand-by when it gets to be too much, and it's over when they want it over.  Some complained about the long labor, the pain from induction, and they'd never do it again.  Some said it was just easier to schedule a c-section.  Everyone has an opinion on it, and they are completely willing to share it to any first or second time mother who will listen, many times not considering how it will affect her choices, or color her perception of labor pain.

Let's take a moment and address a few universal facts about pregnancy, childbirth,  delivery and pain.  First, everyone agree that at one point in your pregnancy - I don't care if you are the most holistic, natural woman on earth, or if you are the kind that wants an epidural the second the pink line shows up on the stick - at one point you thought "This sucks."  Especially toward the end; around the 36-37th week.

You feel like you've swallowed a planet; you feel like a whale.  You can't sleep well, you can't walk well, you can't sit down comfortably.  You can't see your feet, let alone tie your shoes.  Showering is an adventure due to balance, and let's not even talk about trying to shave.  You might be swelling, you might have PUPPS, you might be sick... again.  You may be the most positive person on Earth, and feel great 90% of the time, but I know at one point every woman who's ever been pregnant has said to herself "Screw this, can it just be over?"

If you're thinking "Not me, I loved every minute,"... you are, in my opinion, a liar liar pants on fire.  Not to me, but to yourself.  Get over it; thinking the end of pregnancy (or any part of it) sucks doesn't make you a bad person/mother/holistic nature loving person... it makes you human.

But that above, that's just YOU.  Let's talk about the rest of the world and how they make pregnancy suck.  The doctor checking you and saying "You're not effaced at all" or "Oh, look your 70% effaced and 2cm dilated," yet not telling you that this, in the end, means NOTHING.  The people you work with... "Are you still pregnant?"  "Haven't you had that baby yet?"  "Oh, look how big you are!"  (We're all guilty of it, even me.  Sorry to all the pregnant women I've said that to.)

Your husband, God bless him... maybe he's clueless as to what to do.  The stupid house that won't clean itself; the laundry that keeps happening - Dear Lord, WHY does it keep happening?  Who keeps wearing all these clothes?!?!

Last universal fact - labor hurts.  Your uterus contracting, your cervix dilating... it hurts, there's no way around it.  Pushing a baby out through your vagina? That hurts too.  Delivering the placenta, breastfeeding, walking around, sitting, or trying to poop after delivery?  Yes, it all hurts; there's no way around it.

You know what else hurts?  A broken toe.  A sliver. A paper cut.  Lifting weights after you haven't exercised for a month.  Running.  Walking too long.  A sprained ankle.  A break-up.  Watching someone you love in any kind of pain... I could go on, but you get my point.

The difference between labor pain and other pain is that labor pain has a purpose.  It's natural; it's a part of life.  It's supposed to happen, it's how your body was designed to work.  You aren't supposed to break your toe, or sprain your ankle.  You should always work out, not take months off and then start up again.  Your heart isn't supposed to break when someone leaves you, but hey... things happen.  Labor pain has a purpose, it's your body's natural response to a natural event.  It's useful; there isn't anything useful about the pain associated with a broken toe.

Labor pain is natural.  It's not a medical condition; it's not abnormal, unless it's been augmented by hormones.  Since it's natural and useful, maybe if you change your perception of it, you can handle it when given the proper guidance and support.

When I hear someone talk about their fear of labor, my heart aches for them.  It's awful to be afraid of anything, but being afraid of an unavoidable event that you want to happen... psychologically it feels counter-productive, which makes the fear, and guilt from fear, even worse.

My advice in the past has been to calm down, breathe, educate yourself and know that pain relief is always an option if you need it.  There's no shame in that at all.  But I've also said to wait for it, to not get induced if you don't need to.  I know, it's hard to be pregnant at the end, it's hard to be overdue... you want to meet the little person abusing your ribs and give them numerous kisses, you want to take them home... you want the pregnancy to be over.  But be patient.  Coming from the most impatient person on Earth (me), your body knows what to do and will do it when it and your baby are ready.  Keep in touch with your doctors/midwife, and trust your body.

Now, that I'm aware they exist and what they can do, if I hear someone mention how afraid they are of labor and the pain, I say find a Doula.  Find a group of them.  Find anyone who can help you keep your wits intact to deal with not only the pain, but the fear of it.  The more anxious you are, the more pain you will be in. Your spouse, your family, a doula, a best friend... anyone other than the nurses (not because they aren't capable, because they're busy) who can help you stay sane will make the pain so much easier to deal with.

We can't avoid pain while we're in our human bodies, it's impossible.  But we can control our response to it.  We can control our perception of it - and we are able influence how others perceive it.

If you are pregnant and reading this, or if you have been pregnant or ever will be pregnant, or KNOW someone who will be pregnant... before you start analyzing, or panicking, over how to handle the pain of childbirth, take a breath and step back.  Think about the reasons for it, the process of birth, the miracle it is... and go from there.  Don't think of pregnancy as a condition, think of it as a miracle with a purpose - yes, a painful one, but who said that miracles were pain-free?  And who says it has to be the worst pain ever?

And ladies, gentlemen, doctors, nurses, media... everyone... before you add your two cents to the pot about how horrible the pain of childbirth is, think about what you want to pass on to the person you're speaking to.  Do you want to frighten them?  Scare them out of going through labor?  Too late for that.  Do you want to discourage them?  Or do you want to encourage them, offer them advice, and support their confidence rather than fear?  There are too many other things in life that are pointlessly painful; let's not continue turning birth into one of those things.

Choice Matters - Why I Chose to VBAC

Re-Post from my old blog...  Pardon the white background, I have no clue how to fix it (despite scoring super high on a grammar/writing test I took recently, I do not know HTML code any longer).

When I was ten days past my due date with my little man, I was anxious and irritated.  I was scared and wondered what was wrong with me.  Why didn’t he want to come out?  Had I really created such a nice uterine home that he decided to stay?  The doctors weren’t worried; they never mentioned induction, membrane stripping, or anything other than a long walk and patience.  I was never good at either of those things – walking or having patience.

When they sent me to the hospital, contracting slightly, I was elated.  He was finally coming.  They broke my water.  They gave me Pitocin after things moved “slow.”  I had an epidural when it got to be too much.  The nurse was worried because every contraction, his heart rate dropped drastically.  From roughly 11 AM until 1 AM this was my labor, until finally they decided that we’d both had enough.  I was in agreement, mostly because his heart-rate had dropped to 98 and had stayed there.  He was losing oxygen, so surgery was more than fine with me to save him.

The cord had looped around his neck twice, and was wrapped around his wrist.  It was a reason unlikely to repeat itself.  The surgery saved his life, and I was beyond thankful for that.  After he was born, after my low-cut bikini incision had healed, my doctor examined me and said I looked great.  "There shouldn't be any reason to have another cesarean next time.  Remember that,” he said kindly.  That doctor retired the following January.  But it wasn’t concerning to me because I was going to wait a bit for the next one.  I had time to think.

When the pregnancy test showed up positive in November of 2007, it was joyous and I was sure everything would be normal.  I’d have a normal birth, no surgery this time around, and all would be great.  Surely the doctors would support me; There was no reason for me to have surgery again.

First appointment was normal.  2nd, 3rd… all boring.  4th was when it started.

“The baby is a girl,” they said.

“She looks healthy,” they said.

“Oh, you want a trial of labor… sign this form… have a witness sign it.  Know the risks: your uterus could rupture, your labor could stall but your uterus could rupture… the baby might be too big, and your uterus could rupture.  There’s a .45% chance that your uterus will rupture.  It’s a very small chance, but you should be aware.”

I’m aware now.  I feel informed.  I’m signing the paper, and I’m asking my husband to sign.

He had concerns, and rightly so.  ”This says you could die.  This says the baby could die.  Why do you want to do this?”

“I’m doing it with or without you so just sign; everything will be all right.”  I was cold in my response; I’d already made up my mind.

He signed; and then I asked myself to really consider his question.  Why do I want to do this?  Does it really matter?  Was my c-section that bad?

No, it wasn't bad.  Recovery was a little rough; I was scared to breastfeed because he’d sit on my scar.  I was scared to shower.  I was scared to stand up straight (What if I rip my staples out?  I HAVE STAPLES IN MY BODY!)  Mostly, I was scared to do anything.

My little boy had been sick a lot.  Lots of colds, lots of respiratory infections, lots of pneumonia.  That could be because even though he was suctioned, they can’t squeeze all the liquid out of their lungs the way it is when birthed vaginally.  It could have caused the reactive airway disease he dealt with for so long… could have.  There was no way to prove that was it.

Who does this VBAC benefit?  Me?  Because I get to feel accomplished?  Because I get to feel like my body can do the “right” thing?

She’ll have some benefits; “she” being my daughter.  Full passage through the birth canal gets rid of lung fluid.  Not scheduling the c-section and going into labor on my own means she’s ready to come out.  Hormone changes in both of us increase bonding… easier breastfeeding time…

I want(ed) four kids.  This would not be my last pregnancy.  I decided that I was going to VBAC.  This decision seemed firm in hand until I hit the last month of her pregnancy.  That was when it REALLY started.

At 37 weeks I was told “You’re not dilated or effaced at all.  The baby is still very high up.  You’ll never go into labor on your own.”

So, unless I consent to surgery, I’ll be pregnant forever?  How many other women are still pregnant after they didn’t have a c-section?  How many women are doomed to be pregnant forever?  I want to meet them and discuss my risks and rewards just like I’m doing with you right now.  I need to have all the facts.  (Note: my doctor was NOT appreciative of my sarcasm.  You can tell how much this bothered me.)

At 38 weeks I was told "It’s more convenient to schedule a c-section.  Plus, if you have an epidural during a VBAC, you’ll probably still need surgery since you won’t be able to feel anything.  Consider scheduling.  You can plan around it, and choose who your doctor is.”

I took this to mean he wanted me to pick him.  There was a snowball’s chance in Hell of that happening.

But then at 39 weeks, the doctor said  "You're still not dilated; don’t worry.  Take a walk and try to relax.”

Woah… thank you for not scaring me or putting me down.  I appreciate that.

After an ultrasound on my due date, I was told "She’ll probably be around eight pounds, which is pretty big.”

Really?  My nephew was eleven pounds.  Eight pounds is a snack compared to eleven.

“If you try for a VBAC, we won’t induce you, because that increases the risk of rupture.  But you are getting past your date, which is worrisome.  How about this: start your Maternity leave at work, that way you can plan.  We’ll schedule the surgery just so you’re on the calendar, and when you come in if you’re dilated at all… we’ll break your water to see if we can get things moving.”

Not ideal… but okay.  Let’s do that.

41 weeks.  "You’re only 1cm, but that doesn’t mean anything.  Yes, I’ll strip your membranes again.  Try to relax.”

Thanks Doc, it’s hard to relax with your other colleagues breathing down my neck telling me that I’m making life inconvenient for them, and that I’ll never go into labor.  It’s also hard to relax when I’m, again, feeling like my body can’t do anything right.  I’ll take some deep breaths, try to relax… even though all those comments about inconvenience and never going into labor are running marathons through my head.  Maybe they were right…

Guess what?  They were wrong.  I did go into labor.  I stayed home until I couldn’t talk through a contraction.  I was five centimeters when I arrived at the hospital, seven by the time they got me checked in and into a room.  I chickened out and had an epidural, feeling absolutely no guilt about it.  I labored for 10 hours.  I pushed for 30 minutes.  I had a VBAC.  My uterus didn’t rupture; my placenta didn't detach prematurely, my baby and I were fine.  The nightmare scenarios the doctors painted never came to fruition.  

I realize this isn't always the case.  I understand bad things can happen during VBAC attempts.  They fail sometimes; end up in another c-section.  But as long as the mother and baby are safe, that’s a good thing.  It’s not a bad thing to try.

Bad things can happen during first time labors as well; not all bad things happen in VBAC attempts.  Bad things can happen during c-sections.  My sister had anesthesia awareness with her third baby during a c-section; not pleasant at all.  Bad things happen in life.

But that doesn’t stop anyone from living.  That doesn’t prevent you from taking risks and making choices about life.  You have a 0.026084% chance of winning the lottery; many people still play.  You have a 1 in 700,000 chance of being hit by lightning; most people still go out in the rain.

I made an informed decision based off past experience, information from my doctor and from my own research.  It was my choice.  I chose based off of my emotions, desires, and hopes for my life and for the life of my child.  Had circumstances been different in anyway (ex: my uterus was perforated, the baby had a life-threatening condition, or I had a condition) I might have chosen differently.

With anything in life – be it breastfeeding, birthing a child, deciding on a pet, buying a house, or even deciding to eat a cookie – you take in information around you, analyze it, and decide.  You use your emotions, your desires, your hopes, and your fears to make those decisions.  But they’re your choices and decisions; they belong to you.

I hope that any mother or father, whether it’s their first and only baby, their third planned one, or the sixth that they never thought would come into the picture, keeps that in mind when making choices for their child.  It’s your birth; not the doctors, not your friends’ or families’, yours.  When you chose to breastfeed or bottle-feed, that is up to you.  Not society, not the doctors, you.

Don’t let anyone – doctor, friend, parent, partner, school administrator, random stranger on the street – try to force or bully you into something you don’t want to do.  You have choices, you have support, and you have your instincts.  Trust them and make the right decision for you.

I chose to VBAC my 2nd child because it was the right decision for my family, for my body, and for my life.  I’m choosing to attempt another VBAC with this child because I feel, again, that it is the right choice for my family, for my body, and for my life.  And unless circumstances change, nothing will change my mind.

Desperation V. Sexuality (aka: I guess if the attention is worth it to you...)

Miley Cyrus stepped onto the stage at the MTV Video Music Awards last night to perform and, not unexpectedly, surprised the audience by twerking in a flesh colored swimsuit (after shedding a teddy bear swimsuit like outfit) and grinding on a foam finger in addition to Robin Thicke.  If you can't tell from the tone of my words how utterly shocked I am by the fact that SOMEONE did something CONTROVERSIAL at the VMA's, this .gif should suffice to express my alarm.

Yup.  Though curious as to what happened since I wasn't watching the show, I wasn't exactly surprised by it.  I will admit, though, that I was a little disturbed.  In fact, even though at first I only saw approximately thirty seconds of her set, my brain immediately shouted "INAPPROPRIATE!!"

Then I pulled back for a second, remembering it wasn't long ago many were crying out in shock over Rihanna posting sexually explicit pictures of herself on her Instagram (or some other photo platform) feed, and Katy Perry dancing around on a cotton candy background while wearing daisy dukes.  While neither of those things were that interesting to me (I didn't even care enough to look up Rihanna's pictures, and had to have someone show me the Katy Perry video) and my brain had a similar response.  But my thought then was "All right... inappropriate, yes.  But you're a twenty-something healthy, beautiful girl.  If you want to flaunt it, and be sexual, go for it.  Have at and enjoy."

The images of Rihanna and many other a starlet (did I just use that term?  Dear Lord, where is my thesaurus!?!) who engages in anything sexual will prompt some sort of a reaction.  Some will cry inappropriateness, and others will cry out against "slut shaming."

Slut shaming, to me, is ridiculous.  It's sad that women are called "prude" if they appear pious, and "slutty" if they express enjoyment over anything.  There is no middle ground.  And slut shaming doesn't only happen to famous or not-so-famous women who are seen expressing their sexuality.  It happens to victims of sexual violence or assault - because it was her fault for drinking too much, or wearing that skirt.  It happens to teenagers who make the mistake of sending the then boyfriend a picture of herself in a provocative pose, only to have it spread to the rest of the school - because she should know better than to ever trust ANYONE not to share something private.  It happens to women in general... every day.

Yes, women in general, and yes, every day.  Being pregnant, and having been pregnant before, I honestly cannot tell you how many times I've had someone joke to me about it.  "Sometimes when I see a pregnant woman, I sheepishly giggle to myself because I know that she put out!"  "You're pregnant!  You definitely had sex then!"

Why, yes... I did engage in sexual activity with a partner, I might have even initiated it... or found it enjoyable!  Is this not something women in relationships do?    Is this also not something that men do?  Or, unlike with men,  is it because the evidence is blatantly obvious under my shirt you feel the need to comment or giggle inside your head?  And while you giggle at me, are you going to high five the father for "getting some?"

Is this your first thought?  Because, if so, I think you need help.  The first thought - or first thousand thoughts - when seeing a pregnant woman should be "YAY" or "Congratulations!" or "I hope it's healthy." If those aren't your first thoughts, I'm inclined to wonder if you're actually human, or just a silly person masquerading as a human.

I could go on and write ten thousand posts about why it's okay for women (pregnant or otherwise) to enjoy sex in a safe, healthy relationship (no matter if it's one night or ten years).  I could write numerous articles about the double standard between men and women when it comes to sexual behaviour.  I could write millions of words about the need to teach boys to respect and value women and ect. ect. ect...

But, at this current time, I'm trying to analyze my personal reaction to my fear that I'm slut shaming Miley Cyrus.  And, maybe, commenting lightly on the state of society, rather than engaging in a rational, analytical discussion.  So... back to the VMA's.

After I shook my head and laughed over the thirty second clip, I backed up and said to myself "Why is it okay, in your mind, for someone else to post explicit pictures of themselves or express their sexuality on stage, but it's not okay for Miss Miley?"

Well... I didn't exactly see a lot of sexuality in that performance.  Not saying I didn't see images or a performance that was trying desperately to be sexual, but I didn't see healthy sexuality being expressed.

Trying desperately to be sexual...  That's what I saw.  I saw a girl who, even after a number of already controversial acts, is still desperate for attention.  Each of these acts evolve, getting trashier and trashier, but they don't shock me.  I just shake my head and wonder why.

I saw a girl impetuously trying to cause controversy.  I saw a girl who I didn't think danced very well, or didn't have a very good choreographer.  I saw WAY more tongue than should ever be allowed.  I saw a girl in dire need of someone in her life to say "Look, if you want to have a grown-up sexual image, we can work toward that.  Lets lose the teddy bear references because they're creepy."  I saw a smiling and singing, but the words should have been "Pay attention to me!  I'm a white girl and I'm not supposed to twerk but I do it anyway!  LOOK! LOOK OVER HERE!!!"

also... the song lyrics... yes, they're trying to be sexual, but why is that the focus and more controversial than the blatant drug reference?


In the end, I saw a girl with no self respect... which is sad.

I realize many think the same thing about Rihanna, Taylor Swift, Katy Perry, ect... others who came before Miley and have done similar things.  Taylor, not so much sexually, but she gets ripped on all the time for writing songs about her relationships (and how many she has.  Because a twenty-something-year-old shouldn't date at all, let alone numerous boys...)

If she can't write about her life, what's she supposed to write about?  The sun?  The trees?  All artists, musical or other, draw on life experiences to create their work.  You can't tell me "Somebody That I Used to Know" isn't written about SOMEBODY Gotye used to know.  It's the job of an artist to express what we all feel at times, but don't have the ability to say/envision/paint/write.  That's why we have artists and creativity.

Taylor's not ashamed her songs are about people she's dated.  And she shouldn't be; she's not the first person to do it, she certainly won't be the last.

Rihanna laughed off her "slut" label.  Why?  She knows who she is, she knows what she's like... and she's not doing whatever she's doing to impress anyone.  She's doing it for her.

But Miley... to me, I don't think that performance last night was for you... that was for us.  Because I wouldn't think you'd grind on teddy bears or play with a foam finger if you weren't trying to get our attention and shock us.  But if it was for you... and the attention and backlash you're getting is what you wanted... then I guess, good job?

Miley.. I think... how I actually feel... I'm not trying slut shaming you for your performance. I'm not being critical, or disturbed, by your set based on it's sexual content.  I'm being critical because I feel, whatever artistry you were trying to convey, was very forced.  Because it seemed so forced and desperate, it made me uncomfortable.  I also think, and I could be wrong, it's coming from a young girl who has no clue what is sexual to her, and what is not.

It almost reminded me of the scene in the 40-Year-Old Virgin where Steve Carrell's character is surrounded by his co-workers who are talking nonchalantly about their sexual escapades and experiences... and he's trying desperately to keep up and hide his secret.

So Miley, while the rest of the internet is screaming "slut," "whore," or various other insults at you while collectively shaking their heads, maybe you can take note of the little voice over here that is not reacting how you wished.  I think you should spend some time cuddling with Liam (or, if you don't want to, I volunteer...) finding out what makes you feel good, finding your value, and realizing that if showing the world how sexually free you are is really something you want to do, perhaps take a step away from the ideas of how a post-Disney starlet is supposed to act, and find out how Miley wants to act.

And, please... for the sake of all... fire your production manager/choreographer/stylist/ or anyone who encouraged you in organizing that performance last night.  Because... well... just do.  You can do better, you really can.