Unwritten

Like so many, I have grappled with the dark shadows of anxiety and depression. Mine has been a conscious struggle for nearly ten years now, but if I look back into my childhood, I can see it there, too. The over-thinking, the desperate grabs for approval, the belittling self-talk... It has been a part of me for as long as I can remember.

Transitions have always been my weak spot. One of my most difficult times, and the first time that I really began to have any awareness of my own tendencies towards anxiety, was when I graduated from high school and entered first year university. Everything was going well. I was a good student, and had made one or two friends. I lived comfortably at home with my parents and siblings, had a good relationship with my boyfriend, held down a part-time job... On the surface, everything was functional and fine, and yet I experienced rib-cage-crushing chest pain every time the bus I was riding pulled up to the university campus.

Change. That was all it was.

I struggled significantly again when I got married, and again when my son was born. Always appearing to be fine, to have it together, and yet, I was frozen with worry, exhausting myself with circular thoughts, and berating myself for any and all failure to adhere to my own set of rules of how things should be. Desperately trying to organize my life back under control.

During my last round of counseling, I was taken aback when I realized that I was comfortable making myself miserable. It is not that I enjoy being worried, self-critical and defensive, but these things are so familiar to me. They are patterns that have become so much a part of who I am that when we talked about leaving them behind, I got quite emotional. Feelings of fear and grief swelled up inside of me. Change these things? How could I? It would be like letting a part of myself die! And who would I be without them?

Who, indeed. When therapists ask me to describe myself, I usually tell them whatever my mother or sister or grade school teacher has told me about myself. Somehow, borrowing other people's words feels more accurate than anything I could come up with myself. But I don't report everything I have been told, rather, I will sort through my memories for those descriptions that I feel are most accurate. Loud? Yes, that seems right. Difficult to get along with? I can buy that. Over-dramatic? Sure. But say someone describes me as reliable? I will immediately remind myself of all the times in which I have been unreliable, and 'reliable' doesn't make the cut.

I recently started seeing a therapist again, to help me through the transition from 'working mom of one' to 'at-home mom of two'. This therapist is truly a woman after my own heart; always giving me new things to read. The book, 'What Happy People Know' by Dan Baker, has been my favourite suggestion so far, but I have also learned much from 'The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem' and a chapter of 'Change your Brain, Change your Life'. The writers of these books have given me new insight into my own messy head.

Calling up every negative thing anyone has ever said about me, along with evidence to support their statements, comes ridiculously easy to me. It is a very established thought pattern, and my brain is very good at it after a near lifetime of practice. Remembering positive descriptors is harder, and any that I do recall, are so easy to discount. I am beginning to understand that it all comes down to my self-concept; the way I write my own story. It works like this: If I believe I am 'bad', then descriptions in line with that belief seem correct. Descriptions to the contrary are incorrect, clearly the result of someone else's generosity, or not knowing me well enough. Evidence supporting the 'truth' is remembered. Any evidence contradicting it is dismissed as being a rare exception.

In actual fact, I may be reliable far more often than I am unreliable. I may be even-tempered far more often than I am overly dramatic. But what I believe about myself has not been based on facts, or numbers, or really anything rational. It has only been based on an old, bad story of me.

I am feeling more open to change, these days. It would not be so awful to drop 'neurotic' from my own self-concept. I am ready to give up my old habits, and pave some new roads. And I am trying to let go of the old stories of 'bad' me, even though I don't know who I will be without them.

Today is where my book begins. The rest is still unwritten.

Love to the library

On Friday mornings, Nik and I head down to our local library. It is five minutes away by car, and, on nice summer days, a 20 minute walk. A few times a year, we sign up for the mom and tot storytime group, led by the soft-spoken Mr. B. The rest of the time, we just go in on our own, reading stories, selecting some to take home, picking out videos, and otherwise browsing the children's collection. It is probably our calmest together time, and we rarely miss our weekly visit.

Winnipeg has an amazing system of public libraries. There are 20 branch locations throughout the city, the largest of which is the Millennium Library, in the heart of downtown. According to the statistics posted on the winnipeg.ca website, the Winnipeg Public Library collection has over 1.6 million materials, including books, magazines, CDs and movies. Also available are books on tape, sheet music, and language learning resources. Library computers have internet access, word processing software, and educational games for kids.


The library offers lots of free programming for children, teens, adults and families. Bring your kids to one of the many storytime programs, or drop in during a Family Literacy Day. Special programs featuring musicians, magicians, historians and authors of all kinds are scheduled throughout the year. Take a free workshop to learn more about green living, health and wellness, or researching your family history. Other classes focus on computer skills, photography, or creative writing.

Even if you don't have time to sign up for classes or browse the shelves at your local branch, that need not stop you from taking advantage of the huge collection of library materials. My favourite feature of the library is the huge online catalogue, which allows you to search for materials, and have them delivered to your closest branch, with notification by e-mail or phone when they are ready to be picked up. You can also renew materials online, and sign up for e-mail notification reminding you when your materials are coming due, helping you avoid any late charges.

Almost everything offered at the library is free, though there are a few things that have a minimal cost. Printing and copying services are available at every branch, with a fee of 20 cents per page. If you request materials, and do not pick them up within 9 days of being notified that they are ready, you pay $1.20. Adult collection DVDs have a borrowing fee of $2.20. If you lose your library card, it will cost $4.05 to replace it. And, like any library, there are fees associated with lost, damaged or late return materials.

In my perspective, these costs are insignificant compared with the huge amount of value in the materials, resources and classes available to you with your free library card. You don't even have to take my word for it. The library has recently added a "Library Use Calculator" to its website, that quantifies your library use as a dollar amount, based on the average costs of purchasing the same materials and services privately. Even when I plugged in my most minimal numbers for a month, costs came out at over $5000 per year to buy, $0 to borrow.


If you're a Winnipeg resident, I challenge you to get your library card, and use it at least once every three weeks. You could start by checking out the New and Noted collection for hot reads, or putting a few cds on hold. Sign up for a workshop, or take in a free lunch time concert or lecture. Do it for six months, and see what happens. At the least, you will come out of the experience just a little bit more informed. At best, you will be a true convert, and like me, want to send much love to the library.

*All photos courtesy of the Winnipeg Public Library

Homeschooling myself

Wikipedia describes Leonardo da Vinci as "a painter, sculptor, architect, musician, scientist, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist and writer". I have heard it said that he was the last person to really know everything that was known, and that after that, humankind simply had more knowledge than any one person could learn in a lifetime. I wonder if that's true.

I was really lucky to grow up with a good education. I got all the regular preschool to Grade 12 stuff, and then went on to get my university degree. I also took gymnastics, karate, CPR, learned to play the saxophone, got a lead role in a school play and was on class council and student councils. I was a good student, always putting an uncool amount of effort into everything I did.

When Nik was born, a sort of unconscious shift occurred. It isn't that I gave up the uncool amount of effort. That is too deeply ingrained. I just started to direct all that effort toward Project Nik. I was so baby-busy, I felt like I had no time for any of the things I did before he was born. I still made some time for reading and taking classes... But I read parenting books, and took "Mom 'n Me" classes. By the time that Nik was about 6 months old, I was focusing so completely on his development, that it had totally eclipsed my own.

Someone handed me a baby, and I lost my balance. I thought that being a good mom was abandoning myself, and pouring all of myself into my child, and I'm slowly realizing that lack of wisdom in that. If Nik had been my second child, I would not have abandoned the first to take care of him. I would have found a balance between the needs of the two. Why should it be any different if my first "child" is myself? My own growth is still worthwhile.

Additionally, putting all my effort into my child at the expense of myself not only devalues me, it devalues the contributions of all the people who have put effort into me in the past, like my teachers and parents. It also places an insane amount of pressure on my two year old to perform, to "turn out". I am, after all, putting all of my proverbial eggs in one basket.

As part of my parenting reading, I've learned about homeschooling, and felt the attraction. I have also seen that it is not confined to the traditional grades of K to 12. Some people talk about homeschooling their toddlers, for example. One day, I thought: "Is there any reason I couldn't homeschool myself?"

Think about it. Who says education past the age of 18 has to occur within the walls of a college or university? Why couldn't I design my own emergent curriculum, based on my interests, and make it a priority?

I struggle with feeling like the things I do for myself are frivolous, and only deserve to be indulged in when everything else is finished. Thinking about it as homeschooling validates the effort I put into my own development, and encourages me to create a balanced curriculum.

What subjects would you be sure to include? I am thinking of yoga for my first Phys. Ed. unit, creative writing for English, maybe collage for Art... I'd like to learn to get my finances under control for Math, learn the chemistry behind vegetable gardening for Science, and begin to make sense of nutrition as part of Health.

I am not planning on adding cartography or engineering just yet, but even da Vinci had to start somewhere.

Simple Living

This photo reminds of the mama I would like to be in the midst of the rushed mom I usually am.

I am attracted to minimalism. Photos of wicker baskets on spacious shelves make me happy. Clean lines appeal to me. I even like the term, 'white space'. When I read of someone living the pared down lifestyle, baking their own bread and making wooden toys for their children with their own hands, I feel wistful. But when I try to adopt that lifestyle myself? Well, let me just say it does not go so smoothly.

Maybe it is because simplicity appeals to my head and to my aestetic self, but not my down-and-dirty day-to-day life self. Like silence, that in concept seems to have so much merit, in practice I am uncomfortably at odds with it. So, I fill that silence with conversation, that closet with clothes, that empty page with the written word. I am the master of the collection, and of the run-on sentence.

It isn't that I am all wishing and no action, either. I faithfully declutter, donating to the local thrift stores every couple months. I empty, and purge and organize. I try to live by William Morris' words:

"Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."

Ah. I love those words. They are like a tall drink of water for my soul. My closed-eyes sitting on a mountain yoga soul. My artist soul. But my reality is generally not so poetic.

Let us talk of real life for a moment, and not of dreams and wishes. Somewhere along my journey of getting to know the part of me that believes in breastfeeding, cloth-diapering, baby-wearing, and co-sleeping, I stumbled into the idea of voluntary simplicity. It seems that there are people out there living contentedly within their own modest means, sewing and baking, homeschooling and gardening, spending less and having less all around. How deliciously counter-cultural! Rather than getting caught up in the race to have the biggest or the newest or the fastest, some people are realizing that it can be enough to simply have enough.

Swept up with this idea, I did what can be expected of me in such a situation: I researched the @#$! out of it. I visited blogs, purused websites, checked books out of the library, and read, read, read. I had so many questions: How did this work? How could you make such a lifestyle change? What were the benefits? What were the risks? Can you live this way in the city, or does it require a hideaway in the woods? Do I have to keep goats? (This would be a deal breaker.)

So much of what I read reassured me that simplicity, at it's core, is an attitude, not a rigid set of lifestyle rules. Authors encouraged me to just start somewhere, and grow from there. Well, baking bread was out, and although I have a hand-me-down sewing machine from my mother, I am a little afraid of it, so that was out, too. But what about TV? So much of what I read recommended eliminating or seriously cutting back on your screen time, especially television. Hmm... That might be a possibility. If we got rid of the TV all together, there would be no more fighting with Nik about whether or not we would be turning it on, that's for sure. But how would I convince my husband...?

Just then, the phone rings. It's my dad. He bought himself a new flat screen TV on his holiday shopping trip. Do we want his old big-screen CRT? Thank you, Lord. I am laughing on the inside.

Skip to the end. After some discussion, I find myself watching as my husband expands our entertainment unit to make room for our new big screen TV. He is happy as a clam. I am feeling like a simplicity school drop-out. So much for my mountain yoga soul.

But as the weeks went by after that, I realized I was putting way to much pressure on the "No TV" change. No TV will not automatically equal more nature walks, more wholesome food, hand crafts and inner peace. I guess I can't build my best life by just cutting things out of my current one. There is probably a little more to it.

So, I am still on the journey. I am learning to knit. I am drinking more tea. And that big screen TV is spending a lot of time turned off, while I build train tracks with my son and mix up brownies in the kitchen. Maybe one day, I'll even crack open that sewing machine.

The risk of reading too much

What a funny little parenting trajectory I have been on. Getting pregnant as a twenty-something career women, I did everything I thought I was supposed to. Attended all my appointments with my GP, switched to OB-GYN visits in the seventh month, bought everything the baby magazines told me I needed, had a lousy hospital birth experience, and took home my struggling-to-nurse newborn son 36 hours after he was born. I planned to care for him "by the book", and expected to be pretty much like the other young parents I knew, with the exception, of course, that my child would be just a little smarter, better adjusted and more well-behaved then their children were. I never anticipated morphing into the mother I am today.

So, to borrow a line from Talking Heads, well, how did I get here? And I think it all started when my son was about 2 months old, and decided sleep is for the weak. (Thanks to amberjee at
http://sleepisfortheweak.wordpress.com/ for bringing humour to this most debilitating of parenting dilemmas). At first, I thought it would pass. It didn't. Then, we tried on that much debated practice of having him "cry it out". And when I said we tried, I mean, for about 5 minutes one desperate night. I can't even pretend we had the stomach for it.

But, I believe in research, right? I figured the answer to this problem is in a book somewhere. Or on the Internet. And I, resident research queen, will find it. What I was really looking for was something to convince me that leaving him to "cry-it-out" was really the best for everyone concerned. If I could just find an argument convincing enough to quell my guilt, I could silence my inner sobbing mama, and muscle through it. But I never found that book or article. Instead, I found increasingly convincing books and articles outlining why I shouldn't do it. Pleading with me, even. Begging me to listen to that inner mama, for my child's sake. And that, folks, was the beginning of my descent into granola land.

The first book I read on the subject was The Baby Sleep Book by Dr. William Sears. Prior to picking up the pink book with the adorable sleeping infant on the cover (the infant I wanted to have living in my house), I had never even heard of the infamous Dr. Sears. Now I could probably tell you everything you never wanted to know about him. Other sleep books that pulled me further into the land of gentle parenting were The No-cry Sleep Solution by Elizabeth Pantley, and Sleepless in America by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka.

And I didn't stop with sleep books. I couldn't! Because these books told me more than how to cope with disturbed sleep. They told me that they believed in my ability to parent. That there was something inside a parent that was superior to empirical research. That it was okay to make my choices from the heart.

For someone who works in a VERY research-based, empirical field, reading these books felt like indulgence in contraband. It was like flirting with the enemy, and I couldn't get enough. So I read more titles from Pantley, Kurcinka and Sears. I added in titles published by La Leche League, and started attending local meetings, where I found more books to read. I read Good Nights by Dr. Jay Gordon, and lost my guilt over co-sleeping. I read The Natural Baby by Janet Balaskas, which helped to normalize breastfeeding, night waking, baby wearing, and responsive parenting. And when I read Lu Hannessian's Let the Baby Drive, the validation high lasted for weeks.

It has not been a perfectly smooth ride, mind you. In my previous post, Fear of a unique path, I described my difficulties in knowing how far to walk along this road, how to decide what is me, and what is just conforming to the alternative crowd. I still do not buy organic, my son is vaccinated, we have plastic toys. But I am much further from the mainstream then I would have guessed 2 years ago. We are still nursing, we cloth diaper, we co-sleep on and off... And it all started with sleepless nights, and the local library. Be careful what you read, my friends. Ideas are powerful things.

Blogging for Bliss

After having the name and address for this blog for more than a year, now, I am ashamed at how little I have a) posted to it, and b) learned about how to use it.

Oh, I have an excuse list a mile long, mind you. I have been reading my little eyes out, for one. Nik and I have been spending time every week at the local library. We spend it mainly in the children's department, due to his ever-moving ways, but our local library has a fabulous online catalogue, and I search and place books on hold from the comfort of my PC during the respite that comes during Nik's naps on my weekdays off. Paired with the wonderful recommendation system developed and hosted by Amazon.com, I have access to more interesting books than I ever have time to read.

I have also taken another Internet-related plunge, which is taking up some of my computer time lately. I, too, have fallen victim to the Facebook epidemic. Oh, I resisted for a long time, believe me! But when searching for active online groups covering a variety of topics, I found everyone was meeting on Facebook, time and time again. That, paired with a co-worker implying I was only abstaining out of snobbery, was enough to push me over the Facebook cliff. Immune to peer pressure I am not. ;-)

But, here I am today, with new resolve for broadcasting the innane details of my existence to an Internet community of strangers. Blogging holds the appeals of being able to ramble on and on, without interupttion, a true tempation for a chatterbox such as myself.

But I need to start slow. Even trying to figure out how to change my background from black to the more popular white a few moments ago opened a Pandora's box of stress for this technologically-challenged sister. Not knowing how to do something, especially when I don't even know where to learn how, hurts my pride, and my body puffs up with ugly entitlement. Before I know it, I am angry at the Internet itself for being difficult on purpose! This techno-tantrum is truly not my most attractive side, so my first aim is to only add a photo. And to all you smirking veteran bloggers out there, remember... We all start somewhere. Also, never underestimate my ability to make mountains out of molehills.

Given that this blog post has no real subject, sort of like Seinfeld, choosing a photo to illustrate it, will be in itself a challenge. Vacation photo? Latest shot of my son around the house? What about Halloween? All contenders, but all seem a little common, a little dull... Not quite right for an inagural photo. I mean, this could set the mood for all that is to come! I may never reach elusive blogger fame, if the first photo isn't just right. Let's see... Pretty nature shot? Flowers, butterflies, beaches... Nope, nope and nope. Hmmm... I've got it!



A duck!


*quack*

Now is the time for Copperfield

Lately, I have been reading David Copperfield as part of my nighttime routine. My paperback copy of Dickens' illustrious work was found collecting dust one summer in a second-hand book shop at Winnipeg Beach. I was inspired to my $2.00 purchase by some vague feeling that it was virtuous to read the classics (or, at least, have them on your bookshelf). So, after 6 months or so of allowing the book to collect dust in my possession, I picked it up and actually started to read.

Though I've read Dickens before, it has always been of the shorter Christmas-themed type, so Copperfield's complexity came as a bit of a shock. With a dictionary within reach, I struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar language, reading chapter after chapter, until one day, after finishing the chapter XII, I came to a realization. David was off to seek his aunt, whom he had never met, out of desperate times that were a result of many hardships in his young life, and I didn't care. Not at all! He could get there, or not, and it would make no difference to me. This orphaned and abused boy had just been robbed, and was off on a long journey on foot, and I didn't have any interest in reading the next chapter. So I didn't.

Fast forward a year or so. Nik is born, and I am reading every baby care book and website I can find. His sleep problems begin, and that triggers another reading binge, starting with sleep solution books, and branching off into basic parenting philosophies. I am starting to make myself crazy with all this research. Then my sister lends me a book by Billie Letts, out of the blue, Where the Heart Is. It is a breeze to read, and I am done it within the week. Now, I have the fiction bug. I pick up A Wizard of Earthsea, one of Andrew's books on the shelf downstairs. More difficult, but thin, and it only takes me a few weeks to get through. Upon completing both books, I feel a sense of loss. I have really begun to look forward to my before-bed chapter, in the quiet of the evening, tucked into bed. The books just aren't lasting long enough.

And then I remember Copperfield. I remember how I felt it would never end, and how a month of reading it barely made a dent in the book. I realize that if I am looking for a book that will last, I need to look no further. So, I pull it off of the shelf, and pick up where I left off, at Chapter XIII. Soon I meet Betsey Trotwood and Mr. Dick, and watch Janet chasing the donkeys off of the lawn, and David is put to bed under Mr. Dick's sound advice, and I am hooked.

Now is the time in my life to read David Copperfield. Now is the time in my life where reading a chapter of such a long and formally-written book is a respite and not a chore. My intellect is challenged, and my need for quiet and still and uninterruption is met. Surprisingly, the book that I gave up on over a year ago is my sanctuary today. A good lesson to extrapolate, I think.