Body love

The first shower I took after giving birth, I stood hot water running down my back, tears streaming out of my eyes feeling the warmth envelope me and being overcome with gratitude.

I looked down at my soft pudgy belly and softly held her with both hands whispering “thank you, thank you so much.” I let the hormonal flood of all the feels and 100 deep thoughts pour over me and mimicking my firstborn’s voice and enthusiasm in my head, said cheerfully “we did it!!”

There was a time I didn’t know if I could get pregnant.  Then there was a time where I didn’t know if my body could successfully hold and keep a pregnancy. The road to my first born was not an easy one and yet here we are. Two beautiful boys. Two loves created and carried within my body.

There was also a time when I obsessed over weight, size and appearance. Where I was painfully insecure about my body and tried to control and edit her into an unachievable different version of herself. I hated myself for having cellulite. Was repulsed by the largeness and heaviness of my thighs and hips. Felt itchy and uncomfortable in my own skin. 

I love where I have arrived. Do I still wish I didn’t have cellulite, stretch marks, sagging boobs or wrinkles,? Do I still have moments of insecurity about my appearance? Oh of course. I will look at friends or social media feeds and feel awe and envy in moments over other’s bodies, appearances and attractiveness. I will in moments wish for that booty or those legs, abs, flawless skin, etc; but it’s so fleeting and holds very little leverage. It becomes more of an appreciation for the human body and a “good for them.” And less a cutting inventory of my lacking.

And then there are the moments where I feel a badge of honor and pride for the imperfections. Where they are a testament to me of being human and of the arduous and rewarding journey of acceptance and self love. Like in the shower, marveling at my soft bulging belly and feeling so proud of it. 

An Introduction

Or perhaps a re-introduction, as it's been about 7 years since my last post.

Hello blogosphere, it is me, Christy. I am 40 years old, live in Hawaii and am the mother of a rambunctious 2 & 2/3 year old son who fills my heart with more joy than I could have imagined (#obsessed), and the wife of a kindhearted, button pushing, clever and lovely sawyer. We also have another one on the way, so I am currently a person who has two heartbeats and who grows full like the moon with each passing day.

I am also the daughter of an ailing mother, who has mild Alzheimer's and a body that becomes weaker, stiffer and more immobile with each passing month, but a sass and spunk that continue to thrive; and the daughter of a charismatic, infuriating, adventurous 72 year old father who makes me smile just thinking of him. I am the sister of a badass and bossy younger sister who has been my best friend throughout all of my life and who is an inspiration to hundreds of thousands of her followers, and the sister to a half brother, 11 years my senior who after all this time I'm still trying to get to know as well and figure out my relationship with; as well as another older brother who was given up for adoption when my mom was a teen, but who found us when I was 30. He is sweet, soft spoken and brilliant.

I am the friend of many many wonderful people, who fill my life with joy, laughter, learning lessons and more. I have been blessed with good relationships in my life. It's not something I take for granted, because I am also a therapist to many wonderful individuals and in that role, I get the honor of listening to the stories of other people's lives. In hearing so many hardships, I know how lucky I am to have been given all that I have in terms of love and support and the good fortune of attracting and keeping good people in my life. It is something I appreciate every day.

I tell you these parts of who I am and who others are to me, because while I have no idea where this blog will go, and what it will become, I am sure these parts of my life will show up in the entries. Relationships are how I see and understand myself and the world. They are what shape me.

I used to write all the time and find salvation in it, and with time the writing has stopped. New year, same me, and a desire to find an older me that I miss. So, one of my goals for 2020 is to make a dedicated effort to reconnect with writing. To reinstate that intimate friendship I once had with it.

And why blog? I don't quite know, aside from there is just something about being seen, or putting it out there that does something for me. I'm not quite sure what it is... I think it helps me find my truth. I think there's a little bit of a thrill I get from the vulnerability of it. It feels brave and it allows me to feel connected to something bigger than just me...

So, with that quick intro, welcome and thank you for stopping by.

Aloha,
Christy

Shame Spirals and Negative Narratives

Parenting is the whole rainbow, sunshine and storm wrapped into one. I love that about it, and it’s pretty darn exhausting.

 

My husband and I have been blessed with a wild, energetic, loving, sociable, boundary pushing little boy who lights up my life more than I could have ever imagined. It’s been an amazing gift and a constant test. 

Yesterday was ROUGH. We went to dinner at a friend’s house with other good friends and their children and my little guy came in full with chaotic energy, a strong need to push boundaries (and other kids), yelling, screaming, kicking, climbing and throwing and just a tornado of toddler tumultuousness. He definitely delivered on giving weight to the term “terrible twos.”

 

I did what I try to teach my clients not to do… I walked straight into my shame storm and categorized all the ways in which I was failing as a parent, as I watched and compared all of the other kids at the gathering and all the ways in which they were behaving, playing nicely and following directions. 

 

I ignored the fact that there were bits of sunshine… the way he greeted Aunties, Uncles and friends and said hello when instructed. That he did a really good job with taking turns on the trampoline. That he was happy, even if chaotic and destructive, and that he did hop in the bath without fuss, hop out without protest, even if he refused to wear clothes following.

 

I also didn’t allow myself to tune in to the care that surrounded us. One of the fathers that said, “let me take a turn, go relax and hang out,” the other kids being annoyed but accepting of him despite his crazy. Imani saying “Werner is even more crazy than usual today, but that’s okay.” And both her and Beryx still continuing to try to lure him into games of monster chase (he playing the role of monster, of course) despite the fact that it would ultimately end in both becoming frustrated by his over commitment to the role. And the fact that no one was really too bothered, aside from me.

 

Shame doesn’t allow for this. Instead of connecting us to others, it disconnects us and has us feeling flawed, alone and embarrassed. Instead of allowing us to feel held and supported in our struggles, it creates an isolating feeling.

 

I went home, complained to the hubby, wrote a gratitude list looking for the silver linings, reminded myself of the weekend when we had a really really good day playing with others, read parenting blogs for solutions and ate a bowl of ice cream. I survived the day and also realized how lucky I am to have his honor. 

I write this entry not for sympathy but for transparency and for any other human out there in their own shame storm for whatever reason. I feel you and send virtual hugs your way. Please dear fellow human, go easy on yourself.

 

Also, for anyone interested in resources, Brene Brown is one of my all time sheroes and does amazing research and work on this topic. I highly suggest looking her up.

 

Love and warmth,

Christy

New Years Traditions

For the past 13 years it’s been a tradition to gather with close friends and welcome the rising sun, write our “word” for the year in the sand and burn our letters to the Universe. One year it was snow instead of sand, however, regardless of where we do this, I love how we’ve  kept up with this for so long. There is something to traditions made and handed down that are so special.

This year’s word for me is Balance. As we prepare to welcome another being into this world and our family I want to find balance in honoring the needs of all my family members as well as myself. Included in this concept, is also the idea of more time to recharge. While I am lucky to have such a rich social circle, I am also an introvert and often run on empty or close to it. I don't think it helps that I'm a social introvert with FOMO, as well as a people pleaser, those factors create a lot of push and pull between wants and energetic/emotional needs. I am tired of feeling depleted or knowing that I'm not as present or bright and shiny as I want to be because I haven't tended to my needs. I want to get better at balancing self care in this way as well.

One of the things I love about the intention in the choosing of a word tradition is not only does it set a goal and guiding point for the year, I also get to learn the word more intimately. I get to understand it’s different facets and meanings as I reflect on life from the perspective of the word. For example, one year my word was Excitement and while I intentionally filled the year with adventure and new experiences I also had to unexpectedly move out of my home and got into a car accident as well. Both which I realized were also “exciting,” though not in my preferred way.

I’m curious to see what the word balance has to teach me in 2020 and will likely update on the insights and reflections.

The hubby’s word this year is Adjust with the intention to adjust smoothly to our coming arrival and what life throws our way. The rule in my family and circle of friends is that if I know your word, I will use it against you. I’ve already done that him this afternoon when he got frustrated with me and I responded that I was giving him an opportunity to practice adjusting :) So there's that other benefit as well.

Our son’s word (he’s 2 so we choose for him) is Share. He’s going to have to learn a great deal of sharing in the year (and years) to come and we want to introduce him to the concept in a positive and values driven way.

And for our baby boy on the way, his word is Healthy which I think is what most expecting parents pray for.

If you’d like to share your “word,” I’d love to hear it. And yes, I may use it against you.

Another tradition I’ve taken on In the past 7-8 years is to make Ozoni, a traditional Japanese soup enjoyed at New Years. It helps me feel close to my Japanese Grandma who passed away. There is something about traditional foods that I love.

I love hearing about others’ traditions so please share if you feel compelled.

Happy New Years! Cheers to 2020 ❤️

Dear Tawny,

I wore your earrings last night. The ones you made me out of pheasant feathers. I kept my fingers crossed that someone would notice them and compliment me just so I could tell the story... It's one of my memories of you that burns bright. All of my memories of you, while always treasured, are now golden-- they have become more precious because we have no more memories to make-- at least in this lifetime. I hold them all near and dear to my heart- and whenever I have the chance, I share them.

No one ended up noticing them... not because they aren't bad ass earrings (they are) but it just wasn't a notice earrings kind of night. Still, I want to tell the story again; I want to keep reliving moments of life with you.

Do you remember the day I'm thinking about? My dad had caught pheasants a few weeks back that he threw uncleaned into the freezer and Garrett had just shot his first one, so we were tasked with cleaning them all in the front yard. The birds were stiff, cold and dead. It was not a pleasant task.

You hung out the whole time. You didn't want to clean any but you sat with us as Kimi, Garrett and I went to town. I remember you commenting on how pretty the feathers were and collecting some. It was a pretty nasty affair. I cringed the entire time, but I also ended up being the best at plucking, which meant that I ended up cleaning the most pheasants. The next time I saw you, you gave me those earrings, and I loved that you made something so pretty from such an odd event. I also love that you've never been the kind of girl to let the carcasses of the birds deter you from seeing the beauty of the feathers. You always had a knack for being able to pull the beauty out of any moment.

Last night as I got ready to go out and carefully selected your pheasant earrings I could picture you clear as day squatting down and collecting those feathers. Then later laughing your wonderfully sweet Tawny laugh at me and teasing the face I kept making to show you just how miserable I was. I love that I have a memento...a physical object that I can wear on my ears to allow me to relive our past experiences and carry you just a wee bit closer. One that declares just how fricken awesome you were in so many countless ways.

I miss you and love you.

xoxo

Travel blog

I'll be keeping my travel journal here. Please feel free to follow it :)

Pre Travel- restless nights

In less than a month, we'll be leaving on our trip. I feel like there's a giant clock counting down and I worry that I won't be able to get everything done in time.

When I was a child, I would love to spin in circles, as many and as fast as I could, then come to a sudden stop and feel that dizzy off balanced feeling, as I tried to stable myself and wait for the world to catch up with me. As an adult, I have a tendency to dizzy myself with thoughts. They spin and spin, only they rarely stop, and thus, I'm left with sleepless nights.

There is a fear that seizes me in moments when I stop the spinning and let my emotions catch up. It makes me want to smile. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to seek cover. It makes me want to jump up and down and clap my hands. Sara reminds me that this fear is a good thing. It's what we feel the night before the first day of school. It's what we feel before dropping in on a big wave. Before a race, or a cliff jump. As we fall in love... in all the big things in life.

In the still of the night, I try to breathe deeply, slowly. My mind and my body run in opposite directions. One wants to stay on, the other wants to turn off. I toss and turn and try my best to sink into that quiet energy that lulls me to sleep. It doesn't work, and so I toss and turn some more. And as I do, Erik stirs awake and asks "what's wrong?"; his voice tired and and heavy. I reply- "I'm scared." "Of what?" he mumbles and I can hear him trying to be as patient as possible, though frustration leaks through his voice. Tonight I say "I don't speak Spanish." He pulls me in closer and hugs me tight- "go to sleep" he begs. Feeling guilty for waking him, this night and all the other nights before I try my best to stay quiet and still as I wait for my nerves to calm down and sleep to come.

In the morning I am tired and dreading the day ahead. Erik greets my rising with a kiss, and tells me his solutions to my fear. This morning's solution includes bringing a small 7 inch laptop with us with Rosetta Stone on it, so I can learn on the road. The day before, I was worried about baggage, no- not my emotional baggage, the actual bags we'll be taking. That day I found an email with a bunch of links to backpacks. Though I don't want to push him too hard with my insomniac neurosis, I have to say, I love that he does this. He always tries to fix things for me. He feels my fears and tries to qualm them.

The nights that are hardest on him are the nights when I say "I don't know what I'm scared of, I'm just scared." That gives him nothing to work with. Sometimes on those nights, he'll playfully wrap his arms around my neck and pretend to strangle me.