The Hardest Thing About Pregnancy: part 2

~ Emily ~ 12 Comments

I gave some background about the struggles I am talking about today in yesterday’s post. If you missed it, I would encourage you to read that post before continuing on.

The hardest thing about pregnancy has been embracing my changing body. Nine months ago, I had complete control of my appearance. I could work out whenever and however I wanted. I could eat what and how I wanted. After years of being in a roller coaster relationship, full of ups and downs and loop-de-loops, with my body I would have characterized our relationship as healthy. But I’ve come to realize that healthy has been a euphemism for control. I like being in control. I feel good about myself when I’m in control.

Pregnancy has taken the control right out of my hands and exposed the complicated network of issues I still struggle with. As James grew, I grew, and so did the insecurities that hovered just below the surface of my controlled exterior. I’m writing without having been fixed, without having come out on the other side of these insecurities yet. I’m still in the mess, but am not without hope.

The Insecurities

Numbers… I’m still a slave to the numbers. My pant size can make me do the happy dance and it can send me spiraling into the blues. The same goes for my weight. I dread the beginning of each OB appointment because of the numbers that will stare back at me from that electronic scale. I make a point of kicking off my shoes, shedding any extra clothing, and emptying my bladder before being weighed, just to shave off a few ounces. I know weight gain is inevitable, but it’s been difficult to see numbers rise higher and higher every month.

Identity… Being pregnant is such an in-between stage. I don’t have a baby in my arms yet, but I’m not my normal unhindered self. My body has been a continuing reflection of a new stage, a new role that I wasn’t quite prepared for in the first place. As my waist line expanded, I grieved the loss of being young and unencumbered. I didn’t realize how much I associated my body image with my season of life. My physical shape is a barrier to the image I so enjoyed embodying (adventurous, newlywed, with no strings attached). The changes in my body are ever hinting at a major life change that still scares me poopless sometimes.

Appearance… I just don’t look the same. I wasn’t always happy with how I looked pre pregnancy, but I definitely liked my appearance more then than now. My arms are softer and my legs have lost their tone. My love handles have grown and my face is more full. I feel unattractive and I miss my pre pregnancy physique. I’ve lost my edge in the beauty battle because I’m round and pregnant (utter shame here for making beauty a competition).

Future… I worry about never fitting into my pre pregnancy clothes again. What if I have to get rid of all my jeans and start from scratch because I failed at slimming back down. What if Tim doesn’t find me as attractive post pregnancy as he did when we first got married? What if I don’t have the will power to eat healthy and get back in shape?

The Conclusions

I’ve been struggling with letting go of my non-mom identity and the physical ideal I can’t hold up as a pregnant woman. When my value is in physical appearance and numbers, I will always be striving, striving to fit into the world’s ideal. When I’m in that mode, I become focused on how to keep climbing the physical ladder. I obsess about being the prettiest person Tim sees every day (my perception, not his), which immediately sets me up for failure, disappointment, and a whole slew of negative self talk. All of which serves to sadden my Creator and alienate me from my husband and those I’m judging and comparing myself to.

There are so many aspects of this season that require grace, rest, contentment, and perseverance. Pregnancy is so much more than carrying around your developing child for 40 weeks. The trials go deeper than morning sickness, aches and pains. It’s a mental, emotional, and spiritual trial that can only be meant to make us more like Jesus.

Thanks for letting me be candid about these struggles. I am very much in process and I realize postpartum is going to be a whole new process in itself. 

For further reading:

What’s been the hardest thing for you about pregnancy? 

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The Hardest Thing About Pregnancy

~ Emily ~ 5 Comments

They say that you take yourself with you wherever you go, that you are your one inescapable feature. I’m not sure who “they” are, but I would agree. You can alter your appearance, but you still look the same inside. You can move to a new city, but you pack yourself with the rest of your possessions. You can start a new relationship, but you have the same wounds and hurt that messed up the last one.

By default, external change does not generate internal change. [pullquote position=”right”]Trying to change who you are inside by manipulating outside circumstances is a dead end[/pullquote]. Transformation that begins in the heart is the only way to change who you are and God is the only one capable of heart transformation. I’ve been learning this lesson first-hand, lately, and it hasn’t been an easy one for me to grasp.

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I’ve had a complicated relationship with my body for years. I’d be hard pressed to pin point one incident that was the catalyst for the dysfunction between me and my body, but rather, I have a host of memories that have contributed to a long standing hyper-awareness between mind and flesh…

Keeping quiet while the other girls at recess compared their weights; my 5’2″ frame holding far more pounds than the average elementary student. Or, my two junior high crushes liking other girls with much slimmer bodies than I had. Or, being nicknamed Big Em by my freshman year math teacher (more for my height than my weight, but still fuel for my poor body image).

By the time mid high school rolled around, I was in full obsession mode. My body and my weight were both things I had previously let control me and now it was my turn to control them. I already prided myself on being goal-oriented and driven in other areas of my life, applying those traits to weight loss and fitness weren’t difficult.

I enjoyed the results, but results became a slippery slope of wanting more. Despite being underweight, I still felt big, like my efforts weren’t enough. Eventually, when my hair started to thin and I became anemic, I realized I may have crossed the line into unhealthy.

[pullquote]In my quest to change my body externally, I totally missed the fact that I was still being controlled internally by my body[/pullquote], just in a more socially acceptable way.

The past ten years have been full of discovery and growth in this area. I know that obsessing about my physical appearance is a way I can feel in control when things in my life feel out of control. I know that I all too often place my value in the world’s standard of beauty. I know that looking a certain way may bring happiness, but it doesn’t bring joy.

I also know that I still struggle with this in a major way.

Being pregnant – knowing that my body was changing to take care of a little one – did not change my struggle. If anything, it magnified that fact that I still let my body control my heart and mind. I brought my body image issues right along with me the past nine months, making my changing form the hardest thing about pregnancy. I’m now three weeks away from James’ due date and am realizing this journey is far from over.

For the sake of this not becoming a novel, I’m breaking this post up into two parts… Tomorrow will be more about my current struggles and what I’ve learned while being pregnant.

Have you ever tried to change who you are by manipulating external circumstances?

photo credit: LeonArts.at via photopin cc

When Marriage Isn’t Fair

~ Emily ~ 7 Comments

A couple weeks after returning from our honeymoon, Tim and I spent a couple days with his sister and bro-in-law down in San Diego. We had done this several times while dating and despite having grown up in Southern California, traveling down to their home always felt like a mini vacation. Part of the vacation aspect was attending their church on Saturday nights.

With Tim in vocational ministry, Sunday sometimes ends up feeling like work instead of worship, but our times of fellowship at their church were always refreshing – a time to be filled, challenged and recharged. That visit, shortly after marrying Tim, was no exception. And wouldn’t you know, the sermon was on marriage!

What I remember from that sermon, more than a year later, is that marriage is not fair. The pastor illustrated his point with percentages. Both people don’t give 100 percent all the time – it’s a balance of resources and the scale is generally never even. When one person can only give 30 percent, the other has to give 70 to make it work. Not easy. Not fair. But neither is love.

when marriage isn't fair

That principle was not new to me, but I have since realized I’m not very good at it, especially the receiving part of the equation. I have my moments, but for the most part, I really enjoy giving to my husband. I like putting in the extra effort to meet his needs and support him in any way possible. It matters to me that I contribute to our relationship. It matters to me that I’m not draining. It matters to me that I give more than my (perceived) half of the effort to make our marriage thrive. It mattered so much that I began to derive too much value from my ability to contribute.

Looking back over our first year of marriage, there have definitely been times when I couldn’t give much emotionally. Our first few months in Idaho were tough and I see how Tim stepped in to compensate for my lack. However, in my mind, I was making up for my low emotional percentages by doing. I felt like I could make things more fair by cooking meals, maintaining a clean apartment, staying physically fit, and being actively involved in youth ministry.  My worth as a spouse was slowly being wrapped up in this contributing scale that I was so desperately wanting to be even.

Then I got pregnant. [pullquote]I have never experienced the truth that marriage isn’t fair in a more tangible way than during pregnancy[/pullquote]. Even if I had started with 100 percent to give, being pregnant quickly depleted my stores. This pregnancy was a surprise so I wasn’t always fully emotionally engaged in the process. (Subtract percentage points there.) I wasn’t prepared for the exhaustion aspects that truncated my ability to make up for my emotional lack by doing. (Subtract even more percentage points.)

Over the past nine months, I’ve watched Tim give and give because I couldn’t. He has cooked and cleaned and run errands after work and on weekends. He has never made me feel like a lazy turd for staying in my pajamas all day or reading when there were dishes to be washed or napping for hours at a time. (I could go on about the sweet things he does for me, but I will spare you the mush and the word count…)

It’s taken me all these 37 weeks of pregnancy to let go of the guilt and accept Tim’s extra percentages of effort for what they truly are – genuine expressions of love. I realized I was placing my worth as a wife in what I could give and have been deeply humbled through this process of acknowledging my lack and accepting Tim’s love without giving anything to deserve it.

I am daily reminded that[pullquote position=”right”] sacrifice is the foundation of love[/pullquote]. Sacrifice was the ultimate expression of Jesus’ love for us and marriage should be a reflection (though it will be murky at best because we’re human) of His ultimate sacrifice.

Twitterature – January 2014

~ Emily ~ 10 Comments

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I get so excited when the middle of the month rolls around and I get write my Twitterature reviews! Two things to note in January’s edition: 1. I read Embracing Beauty at the very end of December, thus it eluded my December 2013 Twitterature but is not technically a book I read in January. I’m choosing to bend the rules :) 2. My husband, Tim, wrote the review for Know When To Hold ‘Em. On Emily Freeman’s recommendation, I gave it to him for Christmas. He read many chapters aloud, so I can attest that it is a wonderful book!

This post contains affiliate links. Read my full disclosure here.

(Also, Quiet by Susan Cain is STILL $2.99!! Such a steal on one of my favorite books from last year…)

Embracing Beauty: Practical Style for Every Shape and Season of Motherhood by Trina Holden

Fun fashion advice combined with an encouraging and realistic look at the way a woman’s body changes during pregnancy and motherhood. I needed this fresh perspective on beauty!

Know When To Hold ‘Em: The High Stakes Game of Fatherhood by John Blase

(from the hubs) This whimsical, authentic look at #fatherhood made me laugh, cry & desire to be a dad who honors God, family & the time we spend together.

Here Burns My Candle by Liz Curtis Higgs

Another installment of Christian fiction set in Scotland. Slow to develop plot and characters. Not the best showing of her writing, which I normally really enjoy. #Iwillreadthesequelanyways

When We Were on Fire by Addie Zierman

A beautifully crafted and poignant memoir about faith lost and faith found. Went from 4 stars to 5 when I read the “conversation with the author” in the back of the book. #mustread

I decided to break another Twitterature rule because I just have more to say about When We Were on Fire but I’m not sure it’s enough for a whole post. I’ve only had a day to fully process the book, but these were my initial thoughts:

The book was truly fantastic and I would recommend it to virtually anyone.  Addie is four years older than I am, but we still grew up in a similar church culture. I resonated with many of the experiences she relayed in the first part of her story – the books, the clothes, the music, and the attitudes. That being said, the remainder of her story stirred up so many complicated emotions. Addie is a talented wordsmith and I felt her anger, her bitterness, her depression as she recounted the turmoil her soul was experiencing.

However, our similar experiences had not produced those kinds of feelings in my life and I began to feel a bit guilty that, for the most part, I’m thankful for having grown-up in the type of environment that I did. (I certainly didn’t come out unscathed, but my faith has been stretched and molded in less evidently scarring ways, it seems.) This is why I initially gave the book only 4 stars. It was a wonderful read that gives lots of valuable insight to my generation’s faith, gives one pause to consider how they represent their faith and the God they serve, but I was left wondering if she would dismiss the beauty found in each of our unique stories. THEN, I read the conversation with Addie in the back of the book and was impressed by her heart and humility. She expressed a sensitivity and tenderness towards the faith journey’s of others that wasn’t fully apparent to me in the book. Five stars it is!!

Linking up with Anne!

Did community leave with the pews?

~ Emily ~ 8 Comments

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I can just imagine what they looked like brand new. The deep brown wood shiny under the lights. The curved arms on each side smooth and supple. The faint vertical grain stretching feet after feet, interrupted only by the mini shelves built to hold a slim Bible. Even when they weren’t brand new, they were beautiful.

My earliest memories of Big Church were anchored by the pews in our stone church. The rows created by their solid forms were familiar. For the first half hour of the early service, I got to be nestled next to my mom and brother on top of that worn blue padding. I got to squeeze past my Grampy, who always occupied the aisle end of our pew, when the children were sent off to Sunday school after worship.

I spent lots of time in those pews. I sang the words printed on the bulletin insert gustily with the rest of the congregation on Sunday mornings. I wore my AWANA vest proudly on Wednesday nights with the rest of my Sparky comrades. I stole frequent glances at my jr. high crush and wrote notes back and forth with my best friend at youth group. I helped my wedding coordinator mom attach tulle and flowers to each Many ages and stages of life made their temporary home on those pews – listening, talking, ignoring, learning, wondering, and waiting.

I can’t remember when our church made the transition, when we bought poofy, interlocking chairs to replace the pews. But one week, they were gone. Our family took one of the pews home and with some reconstructive surgery, it became a seating option in our living room. I wonder now if the familiar blue color of our chairs was chosen to pay homage to our seating forefathers.

Even though my young bum appreciated the plush seat and padded back of those new chairs, I missed the pews. They were a novelty, yes, with a pocket in each back conveniently shaped for a pen and giving envelope, but they seemed so sterile, so individual. There wasn’t a sense of being hemmed in on either side by those sturdy wooden arms. I missed the closeness of too many people smooshed together in one row.

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My eyes rested on the floral fabric lining the back of the pew in front of me. So old-fashioned, I thought. But before my internal lament against patterned fabric and out-of-date seating got too out of hand, I was remembering those wooden pews in that stone church on the corner.

In a culture that clings to individualism, I want pews not chairs.

I want to welcome people into my row and not worry about how many people (or how much baggage) they have with them. I want to smoosh and make room for others. I want to feel the heat of others as they wrestle with the things they hear, see, and feel. I want to reach past my chair’s limits and get messy.

In a culture that clings to individualism, I want community.

photo credit: DaveLawler via photopin cc