Permission to Grieve

Ok folks, I’m getting personal.

Most of the posts on this blog are general mommying messages. Some are funny and light. Most are universal. This one gets more personal – and yet through the personal, I think it will resonate more generally.

We live in a Cult of Optimism – in our culture, people are peppy and youthful and vibrant. We whiten our teeth and color our hair. We put on flashy clothes and walk into interviews with a “can-do” attitude. All of this is fine… to a point.

At some point as a parent, we feel weak and frail. At some point, we face tough decisions and times of failure. At some point, we cannot maintain our “happy and fine” attitude. At these times, the Cult of Optimism works against us. Because at these times, we are not optimistic. We are not able to maintain our membership in the Cult.

Our family has now spent the past year and a half facing an aggressive tumor. Our path is uncertain and our troubles are many. Throughout the ordeal, some people have been incredibly supportive of our need to be melancholy, nervous, or frustrated. Others have drifted away, presumably not comfortable with how to interact with a parent feeling ongoing grief and sadness.

Having left the Cult of Optimism – temporarily or permanently - we sometimes feel alone.  Because those in the Cult of Optimism will ask us “how are you?” but frown if our answer is anything but “fine.” They will not allow us to be sad. They feel uncomfortable with our grief.

This post is an act. A statement. An invitation to a new twist in parenting: Permission to Grieve. We allow ourselves to be sad and overwhelmed. We relinquish our control and desire to “fix” each other’s dilemmas and instead hold each other’s hands and support each other during our times of weakness. We share, and we cry together. We acknowledge that we have little control in our world, little control over our children. We sympathize that parenting is not always joyful, not always fun, and sometimes downright unfulfilling. And that’s okay. We can be disappointed and grieve together.

The Perfect Vacation

The perfect vacation, like so many phrases in the parenting how-to manual, is an oxymoron. Vacations seem to be imperfect by design. We plan a vacation to "relax" or "have fun" - but usually the fun and relaxation ends well-before the vacation even begins. We left our wallet in the cab. We forgot the baby's antibiotics in the fridge. We didn't take out enough cash. We got stuck in traffic. We lost a sandal at the rest-stop. We can't find binkie when we finally arrived...

In order to detox ourselves from the idea that the vacation should be fun or relaxing, we need to properly re-align ourselves with what the vacation is really about. Before children, vacation was about me/us and an activity. After children, we redefine vacation as: a special time to grow with your child.

As with all growth, vacations, by design, can be painful processes. Many of us feel they are necessary-evils as a parent. We want our child to grow - to experience new and exciting activities. And tossing them into these activities can be painful for us, for our children, or both. Yet, we learn from them. We learn about our kids and their thresholds for exhaustion, tumult, or hunger. We learn how they interact with new and exciting events - how they process the stimuli and make sense of their new surroundings.  Suddenly we realize that they hate slimy water. Or that they love building in the sand. Or that our cousin's obsession with baseball can be a healthy inspiration. And we learn about ourselves in the process: how much stress can we take? How many activities can we handle? What correct and incorrect assumptions have we made about ourselves and our kids?

Growth is also exciting and undefined - it will happen when least-expected. We may think that experiencing the beach and waves is what we came for, when, in fact, staying up late and playing games with Granny turns into the favorite memory. We may want to rush to get to the museums, when our child is fascinated by the ticket-machine at the train station. We may think it's time to head to the restaurant, when baby gets a fever and Auntie treats her to ice cream.

By the time we go on our first vacations, most of us have already begun to learn that we cannot control our children as much as we'd have liked. Perfect vacations are the perfect opportunities for us to witness our child's growth by providing a new platform for them to jump off (sometimes literally?!) They won't be relaxing. And probably mostly not-fun. But the memories will be cherished nonetheless.

5 Signs You're a New Mom

There are 5 signs that you are a new mother. Test yourself with the checklist below:

1. You are tired & drained. Whether you labored for 48 hours or you spent 5 weeks in Bucharest picking up your adopted child, you are exhausted. You haven't slept from excitement, fear, and physical strain involved in knowing your baby is about to be held in your arms for the first time. You have circles under your eyes and kind of regret that your first photos with your baby will be kept for posterity with you looking less-than-refreshed. Some of you do your best to hide it with makeup. Others claim to "embrace our natural essence as a new mother". But all of you wish somehow this could be done with a lot more sleep and a lot less strain. (Many will question "how am I supposed to be the key role model for my child by starting out at my worst?!" This is one of the first indications that you are a new parent!)

2. You are exhilarated & relieved. You probably felt heavy and uncomfortable at the end of your pregnancy, and perhaps you've waited for years to finally get to this point. The excitement seems unending and keeps you in a vicious cycle vis a vis sign #1 (above). Your are overjoyed - beyond words - that you are holding your baby. You inspect him. You stare as he sleeps. You feel obsessed with this little new angel. And you sigh as you hold her, in awe. You plan her future, you plan your own. You consider yourself blessed, lucky, almost too-good-to-be-true. In fact: doesn't it feel surreal? "Is this baby really mine?!"

3. You are sad & confused. Part of moving on to the next stage in your life - the "parenthood" stage - involves saying goodbye to a lot of what you know and love. You are never alone in the way that you were accustomed to being - for better and for worse. You have lost most of your personal space, time to yourself, and now every decision needs to be double-checked with "how will it affect the baby". You may feel a loss of identity as it relates to your public persona (e.g. "career woman"). Or you may sense a strain on the formerly one-on-one intimate relationship you had with your partner. Moving from one stage in life to another always involves a sense of grief and longing for the "days of yore". (Note: it's ok to feel some grief, but if you find yourself alarmingly compromised by these thoughts, you may need to read up on postpartum depression)

4. You are overwhelmed & frustrated. Life as a new mother is suddenly and infinitely more complicated - in a way that you could never fathom before, and that you never "got" about your parent-friends before. You may be chronically late or obsessive about cleanliness/germs. You have lost a sense of balance and newly question what is "truly" important today, tomorrow, or ever. You are frustrated that you cannot focus, cannot get things done, and are more easily distracted by the NOW NOW NOW of your baby and his needs. You have mommy-brain = welcome to the club!

5. You are full. Life never felt so busy. Or complete. Or wonderful. Or insane. You are maxed to capacity - your cup runneth over and beyond! There is no moment when you aren't juggling multiple things or thoughts at the same time. It's both fulfilling and exhausting.

...Well? Are you a new mother, or what?!