Pregnancy Surprises

It probably isn't surprising that I've thought about pregnancy a lot.

I've always used Instagram 98% for fitness and educational content, and in the last five years, many of the "influencers" I've followed have gotten pregnant or begun their fertility journeys. Because of that, I've been swimming in an ocean of pregnancy-related posts for years, and had heard about everything from hemorrhoids to perineal massages to salmon roe, and had expectations about how all of those things were going to relate to me if the time ever came.

Well, a lot of reality hasn't been what I expected, and there have been some total surprises that NEVER crossed my mind. I've divided my "pregnancy surprises" into those two categories :)

Things That I Thought About, but Have Gone Differently Than I Expected
Nutrition
I thought it was going to be easy for me to eat clean and healthy for the baby. It has not been. Honestly, that about sums up this category XD I haven't been on top of my fruits and veggies, I hate the taste of my high quality prenatal gummy and sometimes resort to the next-to-nutritionally-bankrupt-but-tasty ones, and have neglected my iron supplement to the point that my bloodwork came back "anemic" a couple of weeks ago. (Don't worry, I'm on it now.) I have at least one dessert a day, and ate an entire bag of Ritz Chips in 2.5 sittings last week.

Body Image
On a more positive note, I thought I was going to struggle to accept my changing body, but I'm actually obsessed with it. It's always been important to me to stay fit, but too often that's translated to "maintain a certain size." When you're pregnant, you're SUPPOSED to get bigger. I don't worry about being bloated after a meal. My growing belly is a reminder that God is a promise keeper and Gabe and I are going to get to meet a little hybrid in a couple of months. I want all the bump-forward clothes. I want all the pictures.

(Now, how this will translate to my postpartum body is BIG question. I expect to struggle a lot with that, but pregnancy has shown me that I can't always accurately predict how I'll react to things, so maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.)

Reaction to Baby Kicks
Seeing videos of babies kicking in a mom's stomach has always kind of freaked me out. It looks like you swallowed an alien? Do you not feel creepy having a PERSON INSIDE OF YOUR PERSON? There's a THING in there? Someone's actual little foot is trying to tear through the wall of your stomach and touch air?!

Now that I'm the mom, my feelings have surprised me. I think the kicks are SUPER fun and I love to try to get Gabe to feel them and they definitely don't freak me out, but the dominant feeling is...almost neutrality? Acceptance? Rightness? The thing inside me doesn't feel foreign at all, but it also doesn't feel like something sappy or magical. I don't know how to explain how something can feel so fun and cool, yet so...normal at the same time.

Now I will say, the Metertot's foot or knee or something was all up in my right ribs the other day and I gently pushed on it, and guys it  M O V E D. I felt the actual shape of the thing inside me and that DID freak me out a little bit XD

Libido
I always assumed I would be a super horny pregnant person. I have not been XD Partly I think it's because for the last four and a half years, sex has absolutely been fun, but it's also been mission-focused. We can both take a break from the math and the intentionality/borderline obsession. Sex is good, but my heart and mind have fully embraced the lull in intensity.

Total Surprises
Parenting Books Being Triggering
It never occurred to me that parenting philosophy books might trigger resentment, and I'd have to work through that before I could even get to the parenting parts.

Every parent does their best. Gabe and I are going to do our best, and we're still going to produce kids who need therapy and have tons of things to critique about their childhoods. It's unavoidable, and I've always known that, so it took me by surprise when parenting books made me think more about MY childhood than the childhood we'd create for the Metertot. Gabe and I read passages that we firmly aspire to and realize how differently our minds might have formed if we'd been treated differently in certain moments. Were so many of the things I struggled/struggle with actually avoidable? Was there another way to understand me? Does Gabe struggle with X because he was never given Y?

But the thing is, if we want to be cycle-breakers, we can't just simply switch paradigms like putting on new shoes; we have to re-parent ourselves and break own our cycles/habits first. We can't teach the Metertot to do things we don't know how to do. If my "frustration intolerance" is dysfunctionally low, I cannot model for her how to stay in an annoying situation calmly and work through a problem.

Girlier Personal Style
This one I NEVER saw coming. My clothing style has changed a lot over the years, from borderline goth/emo as a teenager to more mainstream with small pops of edgy, but I've never been anything approaching "girly."

UNTIL NOW, BABY.

I think it's a combination of knowing that we're having a girl, and just being pregnant in general. I feel like a fertility goddess and it's bringing out all the latent Aphrodite-Venus-fairy princess vibes. Every time I get dressed, I get to celebrate having a baby, and our baby is a girl, so obviously I want to celebrate that. The number of things I've bought lately that are pink, floral, or ruffly has skyrocketed.

Fortunately, I still like my mainstream-with-a-pop-of-edgy style, I just also like girly things now. The range of things that bring me joy is expanding, and I love that.

Liking Floral Smells
I've always hated the smell of flowers, but lately... Now, it's not a total shift into LOVING floral smells, especially strong ones, but it's gone from "I do not want to be in the same room as that; get it away from me or I'm leaving" to "Oh, wait, is that kind of nice?" I bought deodorant in the scent "Lilac and White Tea" and kind of can't get enough of it.

Maybe the Metertot is going to lean more traditionally girly that I do?

I'm very interested to see what other pregnancy, birth, and parenting surprises are coming next. I'm more certain than ever that there will be a LOT of them.

~ Stephanie

Permanently Scarred

I like to get a tattoo about seven and a half years XD I now have two.

Honestly, my first tattoo barely counts. When I went to the shop to get the second one, the artist asked if I'd ever gotten a tattoo before, and I said, "Barely. Like point five." The asterisk sits behind my ear where I can't see it (a very important requirement of a tattoo for me) and is slowly blurring because it was done slightly too small.

Cassidy and I first started talking about getting matching/best friend tattoos in May of 2023. One idea we threw out was a minimalist cat-eye eyeliner wing, our signature style in high school. We'd be getting ready together and one of us would lean away from the mirror, turn to the other, and say, "Mkay" and the other would scrutinize the wing angle, thickness, and length, and then give critique. You'd have been hard pressed to find more symmetrical wings when we walked out together.

But that tattoo would've been tough for a few reasons, including getting the shape and size just right (and you heard how important that is to us) and knowing where on the body to place a line of eyeliner. That idea faded, but the concept of matching tattoos never did.

Last July, Cass had the idea of getting tattoos that coordinated rather than straight-up matched. That made a lot of sense because while we've been best friends for about thirteen years, we are extremely different in most ways.

Cassidy enjoys being home; I could be happy living out of a van.
I'm impulsive; Cassidy is a researcher.
Cassidy is an Enneagram Nine, the Peacemaker; I'm an Enneagram Eight, the Challenger.
I have a phobia of vomiting; Cassidy doesn't mind throwing up so much.
Cassidy could have her arm blown off and say nothing; I will let you know if I have a hangnail.
I can live with mystery and unspilled tea; Cassidy needs to know all the things.
I embrace conflict as a way of increasing intimacy; Cassidy would rather live in peace as much as it is possible with her.
No one has ever accused me of being easygoing, whereas that is one of Cassidy's trademark characteristics.
Cassidy loves animals; I am allergic to cats and scared of dogs.
I would rather be hot than cold; Cassidy would rather be cold than hot.
Cassidy loves hoodies and cozy clothes; I love crop tops and generally wearing as little as possible.
My favorite season is summer; Cassidy's is winter.
I'm intense; Cassidy is calm.
Cassidy is a night owl; my mood is tied to the amount of sunlight I can get.

One might even say we're as different as the sun and moon.

*finger guns*

Now, I struggled a little bit with the idea of being the sun, because I'm obsessed with the moon and its phases. However...let's be real: I am not the moon.

After settling on this concept, there were still a lot of decisions to be made, like where and what exactly to get. Because of my OCD, it's important that I not be able to see my tattoos; I will obsess over any perceived imperfection. I had put a temporary tattoo on the back of my elbow in May 2023, and loved that placement.

And that temporary tattoo had actually been the sun symbol from Tangled.

It is important to me for my tattoos to have layers of meanings. While I love tattoos, I need a lot of symbolic bang for the buck when it comes to permanently scarring my body. Getting matching tattoos with my best friend was the main event, but if I got the sun from Tangled behind my elbow...

It would be a symbol of a bright spot in my very dark November of 2010.
It would champion the Disney movie Gabe and I think is criminally underrated.
It would match the temporary tattoo I had when I visited Paw Paw for the last time.
It would remind me of the last night of the beach trip, where we watched Tangled and I got to breathe the same air as some of my best friends (and even lean against Aaron).
It would remind me of the core of myself, which is more like Rapunzel than I'm usually comfortable admitting.

So, it was settled. Cass and I pored over styles and images of moons, and tattoo artists' Instagram pages. We chose an artist. We chose a date.

Two days before, I had this thought and texted Cassidy:

Growing up, I was discouraged from getting tattoos because "they're a permanent reminder of a temporary decision." What if they're a permanent reminder of a decision you've been confident in for six months? A year? Thirteen years? The reality is, Cassidy's friendship has marked me whether or not I choose to represent it on the outside. There are lots of permanent things in the world (including having children); permanence in and of itself is a neutral quality.

And when your best friend is involved, it might be one of the biggest blessings in your life.

~Stephanie

Insatiable

When Gabe and I have a nice date or a fun conversation or an amazing trip, Gabe enjoys the experience and then is glad to part with it and move on with the happy memory.

I never want it to end.

I have an insatiable appetite for fun/experiences. If something is good, I want it to keep going. It doesn't compute for me that someone can both be enjoying something AND want—or even accept—its conclusion. There are plenty of times that I do want something to end, but it's because I'm no longer having a great time. Maybe I have been, but the amazingness is winding down or wearing off. It's hard for me to believe that's not the case for everyone. I feel like if someone is ready for something to end, they are no longer having a good time. If I'm with them in such a scenario, I believe I am not fun enough to keep them engaged. They have gotten bored and/or tired of me.

This means that if Gabe and I are having a great evening together, I feel an invisible cloud of doom hanging over us: he is waiting for things to wind down so that he can move on to something else; I have a chokehold on the happiness and I'm trying to make it so good that he can't possibly want it to be over.

As you can imagine, this takes a toll on fun experiences. I begin mourning their ends prematurely; Gabe feels compelled to reassure me that he IS having a good time, but we DO still have to go home/go to sleep/go inside/etc. I always feel like he can't genuinely be having a good time if he is okay with things ending, and he always feels like he's raining on my parade. I fear that he's going to end a fun conversation before I'm ready (which is never), and he fears that he'll hurt my feelings when he does.

When I was little, one of the refrains I heard constantly whenever I was doing something "cute" or playing with adults was "part of having fun is knowing when to stop." As an enneagram Eight (craves intensity) with a Seven Wing (craves more), this translated into guilt for apparently involving people in things that they weren't enjoying, and a paranoia that there would never be enough of the world for me. Someone else would always get tired first. Someone else would always leave the party first. Someone else would always get over me first. I would always be left standing alone, wanting more from every situation long after everyone else had gotten their fill and gone home.

Am I envious of people who can be content with conclusions? Honestly no. I would rather everyone else expand their capacity for fun XD However, since that has proven unlikely and the only thing I can control is myself, I know the solution is to work on being content. I need to work on a) being present so that I don't have regrets about missing things in the moment, and b) cherishing memories without living in the past.

I've never been good at living in the present. When I was little (like birth until age sixteen), I dwelled in the past mostly. I got nostalgic super easily and mourned friends that I didn't see anymore or places I no longer lived.

Since college, I've been bad about living in the future: when we have kids, when we have a house, when the Fire Faery Story is published...

Right now is nice, I guess. I'm at Local Roots and it's sunny and warm enough to sit outside. In a few minutes I'll leave, and I guess it isn't because I'm not having a good time anymore, but because I've finished my thought and I have other things to do.

I dunno.

~Stephanie

A Fundamental Belief About Men and Women

So, Gabe and I are both a little bit sexist, but unusual ways that are both opposite and the same. It's going to be difficult to articulate, but this is the blog where I try anyway. It is definitely going to be offensive to some because 1) it divides the world into two genders, and 2) it's fundamentally sexist (although I want to work on it).

I would consider both of us to be feminists in the healthy sense of the word. (What do I mean by that? Ask me in person and I would love to talk about it.) However, we are both a little biased. Gabe is biased toward women and I am biased toward men.

If you told Gabe that he had to choose between two strangers to converse with/hang out with/have a meal with and one was a male and one was a female, he would choose female every time. When interviewing potential engineers, his gut is going to be to hire the female candidate over the male (although he's aware of this bias and doesn't actually make unfair decisions). If a heterosexual couple that he doesn't know well (e.g., friends of friends or people on a reality TV show that he walked in on) is arguing, he's going to assume the woman is in the right until presented with irrefutable evidence to the contrary.

In Scenario 1, there's like a 55% chance that I'd choose a male stranger to hang with. In Scenario 2, my gut is equally biased against both candidates until one of them proves me wrong. In Scenario 3...this is where it gets tricky.

See, I realized something a couple of weeks ago: I have a core belief that deep down, men are fundamentally dumb and fragile. I also have a core belief that deep down, women are fundamentally savvy and tough. Because of this, I seem to have an infinite supply of sympathy and grace for men, and absolutely zero for women. Like it's the women's job to take care of the stupid men because they can. With great power comes great responsibility XD

If a man is sad in a relationship, how dare the woman have made him feel that way*. She should know he's pitiful and fragile and protect him. If a woman is sad in a relationship, she's probably fine; she's tough enough to get over it, and smart enough that honestly she should've known better than to let herself get into that situation. If a man does something "wrong" in a relationship, it's probably because he's dumb and oblivious and a slow learner and maybe emotionally stunted. If a woman does something "wrong" in a relationship, it was intentional and unacceptable because she knew EXACTLY what she was doing. I try to be very careful not to hurt guys' feelings. I assume girls will be fine.

*let's that sit there for a second*

Yeah. I hear it. I hate it too. I don't know where this core belief comes from and I know I need to work on it. Maybe it's because I AM a girl and I know firsthand that I'm savvy and tough? I just think the world is a giant showcase of women being stronger and smarter, but like, I don't want to say that because what if it makes the guys sad? XD

The funny thing is, Gabe actually shares the exact same belief, he just thinks it's the men's problem and women shouldn't have to deal with it. Yes, men are stupid; that's why he prefers women. Yes, men are stupid; that's why things are probably their fault.

What does this mean? Well, on a personal level, it means that I've let men treat me much worse than I would let women treat me.

"Yeah. Sigh." I once texted Cassidy about a male who had crossed an emotional boundary I had worked hard to set clearly. "He's, like, dumb and arrogant, but he isn't malicious."

Her reply: "I don't think you'd tolerate this nonsense from a female XD"

And she's for sure correct.

Again, what does this mean? I don't really know, except that recognizing my bias is a step toward...toward what? Giving women more grace? Refusing to excuse rude and ridiculous behavior from men? Probably both.

The older I get the more things I have to evaluate. Life these days is a series of firm beliefs turning to loosely held ideas that get thrown into triage on their way to being deconstructed and—hopefully—rebuilt into something closer to the truth.

~Stephanie

* I know we're all responsible for our own emotions and no one can "make" someone else feel a certain way.

I Thought I Was Being Rude

I can be a really high-energy person. I can be really social. I can make conversation with all types of people, genuinely care about their life and job and pets, and share fun related anecdotes. I can laugh and learn and make new friends.

I can be this way—but I am not always this way. I cannot always be this way.

When I was younger, I think I could be. Age 2–18 was one long streak of social butterfly-ing broken up by a few bouts of preteen and teen depression. For the most part, I was comfortable and confident in my own skin. I had a lot of social energy, and enough outlets for it. This is the version of me that you met and got used to if you met me when I was age 2–18.

I am no longer that way, and it's really difficult to reconcile.

For the past few years, I've struggled with depression, and maybe that's it. Maybe I just don't have the hormonal composition to be Miss Life of the Party as often. Maybe it's something else. But the why isn't the point of this post. This post is about when I learned that there is apparently a difference between "being rude" and "having lower energy."

Sometimes when I have an evening to myself, it's great. I make the dinner Gabe doesn't like and watch my own shows. But more often, I get really down and dark and it's a good idea for me to get out and do something, see people. It was armed with this knowledge that I went to a late afternoon social function full of people who met me when I was age 2–18.

I was not doing well that day. I was in the middle of my Anti-Shoulding campaign, and this event was kind of riding the line. I went mostly because I thought I should, even if it was because I thought I should get out and do something, see people.

But I wasn't doing well. I didn't have the emotional energy to show up like I normally would. I didn't have the energy to initiate or even prolong conversations. I didn't have the energy to smile with my eyes or relate to people in an engaging, appropriate (I thought) way. I felt like a ghost of myself haunting the event and everyone could see through me.

I was being rude. I was bringing down the energy of the group. People were judging me and wondering what was wrong with me. They were probably thinking to themselves that I used to be so cool; what had happened to me? Who or what had sucked the soul out of my body? Maybe I had peaked in high school, or at the very least, something must be terribly wrong?

When I left the function, I blared music on the drive home and screamed and cried. I felt like I was utterly losing my mind—my identity, even. Who the hell was I if I wasn't who I used to be? Someone worse, that was for sure.

At the time, I had no further thoughts or revelations. I did feel better after the music and the screaming and the crying, and I managed to turn the lonely evening around, which I'm really proud of. But since then, I have had two revelations.

One revelation was brought to me by my therapist when she asked a lot of probing questions about the event when I tried to gloss over it. How dare she see through my façade and want to dig into my despair.

I described my experience at the event and told her that I didn't know what was wrong with me and that I didn't know why I hadn't been able to avoid being so rude. She asked me what I had done that was so rude.

"Well, I—I didn't make a lot of conversation," I said. "I wasn't the super energetic, social self that these people know and love and expect."

She kind of cocked her head. "Okay. That doesn't sound rude."

And this was a new branch of thought for me. Maybe being lower energy isn't rude. It isn't as though I actually scowled or avoided eye contact or refused to speak to people. Basically I was just quieter. Not being the life of the party isn't being rude, even if it's a deviation from what (I think) I've constructed as the norm.

The second revelation is all my own: I was bringing down the energy of the group? They were probably thinking to themselves that I used to be so cool; what had happened to me? Maybe they were not thinking about me like that at all. Maybe I was thinking too damn much of myself when, in fact, no one cares that much and I do not have that kind of control over the atmosphere of a group. Maybe I need to get a grip.

Either way, it's some good stuff to think about. Some days I have the energy to be ~Social~ and some days I don't. I can be polite on either day. I do not need to feel guilty for taking a backseat or a supporting role at a social gathering. Sometimes simply showing up is okay.

I'm tentatively trying to believe this and notice it in action. A few weeks ago in dance class, I felt myself Trying To Be Social and pressuring myself to respond with emotion to everything said by someone in the group, even when it wasn't addressed to me specifically. I did not have the emotional energy to be that way that day, but I was forcing myself to try anyway.

Then I remembered that I don't have to do that, and I stopped. I settled for making eye contact and smiling and not forcing myself to say anything or contribute further.

And that was enough. No one was angry. The vibes were unharmed.

And that was big for me.

~Stephanie

The Tyranny of Efficiency

My brain is obsessed with efficiency, to the point that it becomes inefficient.

When clearing the table, most people probably think—or do without thinking—"I will take my plate and cup to the dishwasher at the same time." It just makes good sense. Both things are there in front of you and both of them will be going in the dishwasher. Just make one trip. No big deal.

Well, at some point, this normal mindset grew so big that it's been trying to eat me for the last couple of years. Sometimes I'll be trying to do something—often cooking—and I'll get in a state that's an oxymoronic combination of being in a frenzy and being paralyzed. THIS FIRST—NO THIS FIRST WHILE THIS—NO, THAT—WAIT, OVER THERE—NO, GRAB THA—NO, STOP. It feels like it has something to do with my having OCD. I need things to be the most efficient:

Open the cabinet, grab the pepper THEN the salt behind it, leave the cabinet open, season the meat, put the salt back then—no, you need the salt for the brussel sprouts—leave the salt and pepper on the counter—the cabinet door is still open, which bothers you, but it's okay because it doesn't make sense to close it yet—wasted energy—chop the brussel sprouts, get their bowl—while you're on this side of the kitchen grab the spoon you'll need, close the silverware drawer—open the other cabinet, get the oil, don't close the cabinet door because you'll have to put the oil back in a second, now two cabinet doors are open, which bothers you, but it's okay because it's efficient, pour oil in the bowl with the brussels, add salt and pepper, put the salt and pepper away FINALLY, close the cabinet door, while you're on this side of the kitchen—oh, should've brought the cutting board with the brussels sprout ends on it because the trash can is on this side of the kitchen too, wasted trip, ugh, go back and get the cutting board, yes, now you have the cutting board and you can put the oil back and close the other cabinet FINALLY and slide over and step on the trash can and the lid opens and scrape the brussel sprouts ends into it with the knife and while you're here you should get the tin foil out of the drawer, but your hands are full of cutting board and knife but you're here so put the knife on the cutting board and balance it and grab the tin foil out of the drawer and take everything back with you, the drawer is open and that bothers you but it's okay because you'll just have to open it to put the tin foil back in a minute and do you think you could get the maple syrup out of the fridge too though because you're right here beside the fridge and efficiency and—

Slowly but surely, my OCD brain has become consumed not just with counting sounds and making sure I blink right, but with efficiency. Everything has to be as efficient as possible. No wasted time, energy, effort—

Except that I am wasting time, energy, and effort. My brain comes up with cost-saving plans only to abort them and replace them halfway through with new, grander, more efficient plans, filling me with artificial urgency and robbing every moment of its potential for quiet joy.

I can't just brush my teeth. I have to be catching up on work messages or listening to a podcast or—hey, what about BOTH? You could TRIPLE-task, wouldn't that be the MOST efficient?

This is much more than just getting the groceries in one trip; this is...not being able to take out the salt and pepper unless I can find a second activity to pair that with, to make the most of every second.

Where is this coming from? Who has told me that things must be fast and efficient?

No one, really. It might be the mental illness, or it might be "society." We are a people obsessed with instant gratification and a fast pace, which might be related. I'm not sure, but I am sure that this growing obsession is making me a little crazy.

For a few months, I've known that this is something I need to get ahold of. I'm heaping huge amounts of stress onto myself for absolutely no reason. I am rarely in a legitimate rush. There is usually no one around me to impress with my speed. I have nothing in mind that I want to do with my saved time or energy.

So, in December, I decided to slow down. I decided to go so slowly. I decided to be as inefficient as possible.

After folding laundry, I made myself take each stack into the bedroom separately. I took only my socks to the closet and put them away, then I went back and got my underwear and put them in the drawer right under my sock drawer. I could've easily done that in one trip, but I chose not to.

When I refilled the water pitcher, I stood in front of the sink and watched it fill. I only did that. I didn't rush to the pantry to get my drink mix before the pitcher overflowed or try to put something away while the pitcher filled.

When I unloaded the dishwasher, I took out the silverware holder and unloaded it by itself, even though it would've been more efficient to take the cutting boards with me since they go in the cabinet right under the silverware.

I've continued to discipline myself to do this in the new year.

How much more time does all of this take? Negligible. Cannot even tell a difference.

How much more peace am I able to retain?

I N F I N I T E L Y more.

There's no rush. There never has been any rush, I just convinced myself there was, for no reason.

When I die, I don't want to be able say that I saved the most time putting away the salt and pepper. What the hell? I would like to be able to say that I enjoyed my life, that I noticed little things that made me happy, and that I was able to confer peace on others.

I'm sharing this for two reasons: 1) It clearly falls under the umbrella of "becoming me." I'm trying to become a less hurried person. But also 2) I wonder if other people struggle with the tyranny of efficiency. You know, if you choose to slowly, it's not "losing." You can't lose a game you're not playing. Don't play the efficiency game. Go slow on purpose. See what happens.

~Stephanie

"Do You Feel Like You Were Allowed to Show Emotion As a Kid?"

For the past few months, I've been getting closer to a friend who enjoys the same kinds of conversations I do: marriage, spiritual exploration, coping with depression, personality types, emotional intelligence, childhood development, boundaries—you know, the fun stuff XD

In some ways, I consider myself to be an open book, or at least a book that is willing to be opened. I don't go around wearing my heart on my sleeve and I can usually hide socially inappropriate thoughts and feelings, but I will answer almost any question you ask me. There are VERY few topics that are off-limits for me. This friend has never asked me anything that I wasn't happy to answer—but she has asked me a lot of things no one has asked before.

A few weeks ago, during a conversation that I'm gonna simplify into "having difficulty expressing feelings," she asked,

"Do you feel like you were allowed to show emotion as a kid?"

I hesitated for a second because I'd never considered that question before. I think I probably dry chuckled before saying,

"Well, the short answer is yes...but with two big conditions. I do think my parents believed that emotions were natural and healthy, but for one parent, the emotion had to make sense. Emotions that were irrational or of unknown origin were often unacceptable. For the other parent, I was allowed to have emotions as long as they were polite. Emotions that came out in ways that were perceived as disrespectful were not treated as legitimate."

I think when I was growing up, society emphasized...I honestly don't even know. Appearances, maybe? Kids were trained to appear normal and polite, and the neatest way to do that was to teach them to get rid of everything inside that was inconvenient. Lots of "YOU MAY NOT THROW A TANTRUM" and less "Your feelings are very real. I recognize that you are three and you do not have the cognitive development to manage your disappointment in the way that I, an adult, would. You are having big feelings and I am going to be in this moment with you calmly, and after I've helped you regulate yourself, we'll talk about better ways to manage your disappointment in the future."

I'm still processing all of this, and while I do, I'm also holding a lot of other truths in mind:

1) Every generation of parents tries to do better than the one before.

2) Every generation of parents is doing the best they can with the knowledge they do have.

3) As far as I know, these findings about how children's brains develop is new-ish, or at least new enough that parents twenty, thirty, forty years ago didn't know they were asking their kids to do things that their kids were developmentally incapable of doing.

4) Science and philosophy are constantly evolving. It's possible that what I believe now may be deemed ridiculous and inappropriate by the time I have grandkids.

5) I have no children and have no idea how difficult it is to go the long route when it comes to helping a child develop emotional intelligence. All this stuff may sound great in theory until I have to do it. Maybe I'll get to see one day.

I'm definitely not blaming my parents for being feelings-repressed myself. I think I was born that way. On the enneagram, I'm dominant in Type Eight, and Type Eights are, in fact, feelings repressed. In MBTI, I'm an ENFJ, which is other-peoples'-feelings dominant, but my-feelings repressed. That checks out too. It's just interesting to think about the frameworks we were raised with, and how they manifest as an adult. Growing up is about learning, but it's about unlearning too.

I'm so grateful that God gave me Gabe, who is my opposite in most ways. Enneagram-wise, he's feelings-dominant; MBTI-wise, he's his-feelings dominant. He's slowly teaching me that there really is a place for feelings and that MY feelings—independent of anybody else in any way—deserve a second glance. They're not always the deciding factor (which is what he's learning), but they deserve to be dug up and acknowledged.

Sometimes my feelings aren't going to make sense—and that's actually okay. They don't have to be logical to be real. Feelings aren't truth, but neither are they trash. Sometimes my feelings aren't going to manifest politely—and, as an adult, it's my job to figure out how to fix that, so that if we ever have kids, I can teach them to do it too.

Starting to think that becoming a good human is gonna take a lifetime ;)

~Stephanie

Boundaries and Fe: A Match Made in Hell

You may remember me writing about striving for healthier boundaries XD In June, I read Boundaries, Gabe and I had a life-planning weekend trip, and I committed to holding several specific boundaries for the next six months, June to January.

Well, boundaries are difficult to adhere to, and I haven't been doing a great job. I think the main reason is that I have an unhealthy relationship with other peoples' feelings and opinions.

As a kid I was labeled "lazy." I was also labeled "selfish." As a kid, neither label bothered me. People could label me all day long and I'd continue being/doing largely what I wanted. However, somewhere along the line I became interested in self-improvement, and all the labels started mattering to me. I leaned into my ENFJ, away from my Eight, and decided to make other people the most important thing, to overcompensate for naturally being "so selfish."

My MBTI type is an "extroverted Feeling type." The primary way I see the world is by registering other peoples' feelings. (How *I* feel is so far down the list of factors that I often can't figure it out even when I'm trying. It feels like the absolute least important factor of any scenario, because I know I can handle feeling whatever/anything*.)

For me, this means that during dance class, I'm consumed with the fact that one person in the group isn't getting the choreography and is feeling embarrassed about it. At church, I can't hear what the speaker is saying over the roar of how he accidentally made someone in the second row feel silly. At movie nights, I can't focus on the film because of how much the person on my left dislikes someone across the room. When I accidentally take someone's seat, I feel how awkward THEY feel having to deal with it. When Person A recommends a book to Person B and Person B doesn't care, all I can worry about is how Person A must be feeling.

Now, before this starts sounding selfless and angelic, I need you to know that it's not XD Just because I'm in tune with other peoples' feelings doesn't necessarily mean I'm sympathetic. It might mean I'm annoyed because it's distracting. It might mean I feel like I'm being manipulated when I'm absolutely not.

And being others-focused can also be a form of self-focus: how are others feeling about ME? Do they think I look bad in this outfit? Did they expect me to be more interesting than I am? Do they think my shifting priorities as a Christian are a sign of succumbing to "the world"? Some things don't get factored in—like I'll never care that you think I shouldn't have tattoos or listen to metal—but other things are impossible to ignore. 

Recently on a trip, I found myself so wrapped up in what others were thinking and feeling that I couldn't focus on anything else. I tried to stop, wanted to see how long I could go before I was consumed by the wants/needs/opinions/feelings of others. I literally couldn't go, like, a couple of minutes. It was all I could focus on.

One of the things I committed to doing until January was not going to church while I heal from "shoulding," unless I felt specifically called to go one week. Well, I've been doing a horrible job of that.

I skipped a couple of weeks, people would ask Gabe where I was or text me saying they missed me, but then there would be a church function I needed to be at, or Gabe wouldn't be able to attend one week and I felt like at least one of us should be there, or blah blab blah and I'd end up going. Then I'd go another week in a row. And I could imagine the people around me thinking, "Okay good, I'm glad she's gotten whatever it was out of her system and she's back now."

Well, I shouldn't be. I still need to be gone. My boundaries and my feelings are too messed up for me to return in a healthy manner right now. I know that. God knows that. Gabe knows that. My therapist knows that.

But other people don't, and their thoughts/feelings/opinions are all. I. Can. Register.

It's not other peoples' fault. They aren't manipulating me or guilting me or projecting onto me. No, *I* am the one taking on other peoples' stuff when I shouldn't. Other peoples' opinions of me are none of my business. Other peoples' feelings about me are not within my boundaries to control. They can think/do/say/feel whatever is natural for them and that doesn't have to affect me.

In theory.

This is really hard for me. I don't want people to walk on eggshells around me or worry about me**. I don't want other people to DO anything; they don't even have to be understanding or kind. They can be whatever, and I can be whatever, and we'll all work on our own stuff, the stuff that's within our own boundary lines.

I still believe in community and accountability and not making a brother stumble and a bunch of other stuff that probably feels contradictory to some of this, but that's another post (or five).

I dunno. All this to say: boundary work is hard, I guess.

~Stephanie

* Emotionally. Physically, a hangnail will take me out.

** So why am I vomiting this onto the internet? Partly because writing is the best way I can access my own thoughts and feelings, partly because these posts seem to be helping other people wrestle through their own stuff, partly because I'm a validation-seeking millennial. You can assign the percentages however you want.

It's Not a Nightmare; It's Something Far Worse

I was thinking about this in the shower today, and it occurred to me that I could blog about it.

"Ha," I said to myself. "Nope."

And that's when I realized that posting about this felt like ACTUAL vulnerability. Not the transparency and openness I use so often on this blog, but actual vulnerability. As in, this will allow people to take educated guesses about my insecurities and fears.

I'm sweating XD

And it's funny because when I get into it, you're for sure gonna be disappointed. It's not even a big deal. Like this intro is going to feel like clickbait when I get to the point, even though I'm not lying or exaggerating the way it makes me feel. It feels vulnerable to post about this.

*clears throat and begins the post the way it came to her in the shower*

Do you have any recurring nightmares, or themes in your nightmares?

I have two in particular that stand out to me: 1) tidal waves and 2) not being able to scream.

People who know me well know that I am big into dreams. I have dream dictionaries, I love Bible stories about dreams, I recorded my dreams in a folder on my computer for years, and I ask a handful of people pretty regularly if they've dreamed. (If you're not in the handful, this is your open, standing invitation to tell me your dreams. Believe me, I want to know.)

I've had all the standard dreams/nightmares: misshapen/missing teeth, being in a runaway car, showing up places naked, ummm...what are the other common ones... I don't know. Those. I've had those, many times as well.

But the tidal and the not being able to scream...those hit me different.

~Tidal Waves~
There's...nothing you can do about a tidal wave, or a guess "tsunami" is more accurate. You're standing on the beach, and suddenly, there's a wall of dark water rising up in front of you. It swells higher and higher, and absorbs all the sounds in the world as creation holds its breath, waiting for the inevitable. It's a gasp with no more breathing. It's the period at the end of everything.

It's that jolt of adrenaline. The sinking in your chest and stomach. The way your soul goes dark.

I think it's the inevitability of a tidal wave. There's no running. There's no swimming. There's no diving through it to the other side. You're frozen, and it doesn't matter. Even if you weren't frozen, what could you do? Nothing. It's a crushing wall of death.

Tidal wave dreams aren't nightmares to me. I actually love nightmares. I find them exciting and dangerous and they show me my true colors and buried reactions in new ways.

Tidal wave dreams are like something turning off the light in my soul. They reach up and yank the cord on my soul lamp, and click. Everything winks out. That's it.

I don't like that.

Oh, and the wave never crests in my dream. The photo for this post is misleading, but it's also pretty and teal. The waves in my dreams are just impending walls of water and then...well, you know how dreams are.

~Can't Scream~
The theme of not being able to scream recurs too. Sometimes it's that I can't get my mouth open (Think Neo in The Matrix), but more often it's that my voice is hoarse. I am screaming, funneling the energy of every cell in my body into the act of making sound, but a weak little croak comes out. I bend my whole body into the scream, hands on my knees if I can, throwing my chest into the scream, but it's a fragile whisper of an exclamation.

No one can hear it, and anyone who does, doesn't understand the depth of it, because it just sounds like a little croak. It doesn't sound like someone urgently screaming for her life because something is about to destroy her. It sounds ignorable. It sounds minor. It doesn't sound like every cell of her being is crying out, like her chest is about to cleave in half with the effort.

And, as with the wave, there's nothing else to be done. I've done the one thing I can do in whatever the dire situation is—it's always a last resort in the dreams—and that fails too. No one can hear me, and those that can, don't get it.

I get what the dreams mean. I told you, I have the dream dictionaries XD I know I'm overwhelmed by life and feel like no one can support me. Conversely, I know that I can handle all things with God and the people who love me, and I know that there are DOZENS of people who love and support me. I get it.

There's really nothing left to say, and the things other people could or would say, are the reasons I'm hesitant to post this in the first place.

As always, do with all of this whatever you will.

So. Did you dream last night?

~Stephanie

"That Hurt My Feelings": Part 3

Disclaimer: There's a chance I'm just in a bad mood [June 24]. I may still decide to publish this, for tRAnsPaRenCY, but we'll see.

A minute ago, I was flipping through old posts on this blog and I found these: "That Hurt My Feelings": Part 1 and "That Hurt My Feelings": Part 2.

Those posts feel so far away*. I had forgotten that for twenty-five years I didn't know the difference between being "open" and being "vulnerable."

To be honest, I feel nostalgic for the person I was back then. Remember when nothing hurt my feelings? Remember when I was fine? Remember when I could handle whatever? Those were the damn DAYS, man.

And I could go back to them, easily. I can turn off my feelings. (Gabe compared this ability to a vampire's ability to "turn off their humanity" in The Vampire Diaries. Accurate.) When I'm watching something that might be heartstring-tugging, I can turn off the part of me that would feel it. I used to live like that 24/7 because...well, to be honest, I don't think I knew another way to be. I don't think I realized that there was a doe-eyed little crybaby lurking inside of me. I thought non-vulnerable me was me. And maybe she was/is, I don't know.

Ever since learning about the Enneagram, I've been making an effort to grow in this area. I've been trying to tell more people (and by "more" I mean like two, in addition to Gabe) when they hurt my feelings. I've been trying to feel more.

Telling People When They've Hurt My Feelings: A Review
"4/10, cannot recommend yet. More than half the time it ends with a 'Sounds like a You problem; you're too sensitive.' The other 40% of the time, when the person owns it and apologizes, it makes you feel instantly sheepish and embarrassed, like you were in the wrong for being hurt in the first place. I give the practice 4 and not 0 because I'm trying to trust the process. I trying to believe that one day it'll feel like progress instead of masochism."

Feeling More: A Review
"3/10, cannot recommend yet. I'm sadder more often. I have to be more careful about what I watch/read/listen to, if I'm gonna do it with my feelings turned on. Gabe appreciates my effort. I think his Four heart is encouraged to see me feel more. I'm sure he'd defend what he sees as progress. It doesn't feel like anything to me, except being weaker."

So far, trying to become a more vulnerable person does not make me feel stronger. It makes me feel weaker. I don't know if I'm not doing it right, or if it's a process that takes—apparently—longer than three and a half years. I can't think of ANYTHING I've tried to do for that long and felt no progress on. I feel like I'm touchier, moodier, and less fun to be around. Regular life feels like a battle I've decided to walk into without armor.

I think maybe I'm just in a bad mood right now. I told someone [not Gabe, obviously] that he hurt my feelings today and he responded by saying I was being a "brat" and a "baby." Most of me agrees with him. The temptation to "turn off my humanity" is so strong. I could absolutely stop feeling. It's difficult for me to remember why that's not the best option for everyone.

On an intellectual level, I understand that broadening my capacity for sadness should also broaden my capacity for joy, but I was pretty joyful before all this junk. I would not say that I experience more joy now than I did then. I definitely experience more sadness.

Is this normal? How long is it supposed to take before vulnerability and feeling things pays off? Or maybe this just isn't for me?

I'll try to come back to this when I'm not feeling...like this.

~ Stephanie

* Oh jeez, I just realized that that's the time I said I'd been struggling ever since. Have I been struggling because of this openness/vulnerability revelation? Did I accidentally break myself in 2019? XD

Boundaries: You Own Your Emotions

So, this topic is embarrassing. I'm gonna sneak up to it by talking about something parallel in a kind of clinical manner and then LAUNCHING myself sideways into the actual topic.

Years ago I discovered that I was an Eight on the enneagram, which means that I tend toward black-and-white thinking, crave intensity, like to challenge people and ideas, and want to be strong. Eights also prefer to avoid weakness/vulnerability.

I always had a little bit of an...atypical Eight streak though, which confused me and made me question if I really was an Eight. I also didn't think that "avoiding vulnerability" was THAT big of a deal to me. I did avoid being vulnerable, but it wasn't, like, MY NUMBER ONE PRIORITY or anything.

Then I started therapy, and *steeples fingers together and peers at you over eyeglasses* it turns out it IS my number one priority. Turns out Gabe and Cassidy were right. Turns out virtually all of my other priorities are anti-vulnerability in disguise. I was actually uncomfortable with how obvious this seemed to my therapist. She began saying things like "...your favorite word, 'vulnerable'" or "Do you think this stems from your struggle with vulnerability?"

Miraculously, I still really love my therapist.

*LAUNCHES SELF SIDEWAYS*

So when I read Boundaries and found that I had been outsourcing my emotional regulation, I was, in a word, mortified.

On an average week, pre-Boundaries, I would lie on the couch at least four out of seven evenings being on my phone, and waiting for Gabe or Aaron or Cassidy to rescue me from the sadness that swallowed me the moment I wasn't engaged with another person. I literally just existed in a gray fog of lonely boredom or bored loneliness and waited for someone to notice and save me. If they didn't notice, it was because they didn't care about me or they'd finally gotten sick of me or they were happier without me or I was unloveable.

How f*#$%&@ embarrassing.

Boundaries makes the point that other peoples' emotions are not your responsibility—and the other side of that coin is that your emotions are not their responsibility. Other people cannot MAKE you angry, or sad, or happy unless you give them permission—no matter what the professional guilt-trippers say you're doing to them. Eleanor Roosevelt was right: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

The day after reading that truth-bomb, I was lying on the couch as usual, and felt the lonely sadness lay itself over me.

My emotions are my responsibility. It is not anyone else's JOB to notice and fix me.

No one need to be coming to save me. If I was going to become happier, I had to do something.

And you know what? Weight. Lifted. Off.

How can it possibly be FREEING to be saddled with more responsibility? And yet, it didn't feel like being saddled with responsibility, it felt like EMPOWERMENT.

First of all, how stupid is this. Second of all, it felt so NICE not to be stuck waiting for someone else to move. (Not that I was ever stuck; that was a lie I don't even remember telling myself.) It felt so nice for my emotions to be in my own hands. It felt like getting your driver's license or moving out or breaking up with someone terrible.

You know what I did? I got off the couch, made myself a snack, and settled in to watch TV on my laptop. I looked myself in the face and said, "Stop it. No one needs to save you."

I can't even describe how freeing this revelation was. One moment I was feeling like a weak little bitch, and the next I was feeling like Wonder Woman.

Now, I struggle with depression, and some people REALLY struggle with depression. I'm absolutely not arguing that you can cure depression if you "just stop being sad." But those lonely-couch-save-me moments were not depression. Actually, I was struggling with boundary issues. I had drawn my boundary lines in a place that made me powerless and others responsible for something that fell on my own property.

If my husband or friends notice that I'm sad, is it kind for them to try to cheer me up? Sure. But it's a kindness, not a responsibility.

It is no one's job but mine to make me happy.

And damn, does that feel good.

~ Stephanie

Boundaries: The Laziness Breakthrough

(Honestly, I don't even know how I plan to make this a whole post, because it was literally one moment of thought, but here we go.)

I've blogged before about how in my childhood I internalized a lie about myself: that I am lazy.

Gabe, bless him, has been trying for years to convince me that I'm not, but that false belief about myself has been welded onto my soul. It didn't seem to matter how many times Gabe told me I wasn't lazy, or got other people to corroborate the fact that I wasn't, or had me say out loud that I am not lazy. All of it was just water off a duck's back. None of sank in.

That's a weird human quirk, isn't it? That we can know something isn't true, but still...believe it. Still not be able to shake it. It makes me feel kind of crazy. Why are there parts of my mind that I can't access? How can part of me be so independent of my thoughts and intentions? Therapy has been great, but even that hadn't managed to get a meeting with the part of my brain that "knew" I was lazy.

A few weeks ago, I read the book Boundaries. One of my favorite things about the book is that it gives a list of things that are within your boundaries. If you're going to draw boundaries to keep other people from encroaching on your business, that necessarily implies that some things are your business. I plan to blog specifically about that later, but today, it's that simple fact that I want to highlight.

Some things are not your responsibility; some things are. You decide what to say yes to. You decide how you want to spend your time and energy. You decide what you can take on in a healthy manner.

So. The laziness breakthrough.

I was watching a YouTube video, and the creator talked about turning your passions into a business.

"Although you can't do that," my brain grumbled at itself. "Because you're too lazy."

Out of nowhere, this neutral, unemotional head voice said, "You're not lazy. That's just not within your boundaries right now."

Dismissed. No anger. No judgment. No nothing, really, just a wave of a mental hand that said, "No. Not true" and left it there.

I physically froze.

There was no guilt. The crushing sense of judgement I usually feel when confronted with something I "could" (which my brain automatically translates to "should") do was utterly absent.

I felt no weight. It was a giant mental shrug. It was the acknowledgement that yes, I could turn my passions into a business—if I assessed my boundaries and decided that that was within my healthy limits. It currently wasn't, and that was perfectly fine.

I wasn't lazy. I'm NOT lazy. Some things are within my healthy boundaries right now, and some things aren't. As I grow and seasons change, I'll examine my boundaries and see if they should be shifted. There is no glory in doing something I can't do healthily.

And that's it. THAT'S the truth. THAT'S what truth feels like.

I'm not lazy. And do you know what's WILD?

It feels like part of me has known that all along, and it's smiling, glad that the rest of me has finally caught up. I'm gonna guess that that part of me is the Holy Spirit, who will not violate our boundaries, but allows us to do the good work that is ours to do.

(Would you look a that. I did make a post out of one moment of thought XD)

~ Stephanie

Stand Up for the Strong Kids

Princess Diaries came out in 2001, but I’m guessing the VHS didn’t come out until 2002 probably, which means I was eight years old when I saw the Krystal Harris “Supergirl” music video. I loved how antithetical its vibe was to the other music video on the tape, Myra’s “Miracles Happen.” Krystal had spiky hair and heavy eyeliner and kind of headbanged when she played the piano.

There was also a line in the song that resonated with me. This might’ve been the first time I related to lyrics. The chorus says, “I’m supergirl, and I’m here to save the world, but I wanna know: who’s gonna save me?” The next iteration is, "I'm supergirl, and I'm here to save the world, but I wanna know why I feel so alone."

I remember staring at the TV screen with a mix of excitement, elation, and...some other emotion I can't name. I think it's in the Frustration Family. (Gabe helps me categorize emotions when I can't name them so that we can at least narrow it down.)

I confided this feeling to an adult. "I love that song because that's how I feel," I said, emitting mostly excitement and elation. (Maybe the other emotion is actually in the Sadness Family?) "I feel like I'm supergirl, but there's no one who's gonna save me."

The adult gave a disinterested "huh" and looked at me like I'd grown a horn by choice, like I was too ignorant and unwise even to be considered cute for the sentiment. The adult didn't ask why I felt that way. Her reaction made me feel stupid for confiding in her, and stupid for feeling the way I did. I mean, I was a kid. How presumptuous of me to assume I was doing anything heavy or heroic in my little life. I guessed I must been misperceiving my experiences.

But I did feel that way. I felt like I was strong and stood up for people a lot, but whenever I was lonely or persecuted, people just kind of watched it happen, unwilling or unable to step in.

When I got older, I was told that this is because I come off like I don't need any help. People assume that helping me would be an insult, or they worry that I might perceive it as such. Hearing that gave me mixed feelings as much as the "Supergirl" lyrics did.

On the one hand, HA. People are RIGHT. I DON'T need any help. If I have a problem with someone or something, I can and will handle it. Your support is icing on the cake, if that.

On the other hand...like, damn, I'm tired. Could people just do it anyway, maybe push through the fear that I might misinterpret their support?

I have a few memories of straight up asking people to stand up for me, but I always seemed to pick the wrong people, people who were only able to stick up for me in a passive aggressive, apologetic, submissive, barely-a-step-above-just-rolling-over-for-the-oppressor way, which I found worse than nothing.

I also remember the people who stuck up for me the "right" way, without being asked. Meredith Andrews, you're on the list 💚 

This post definitely isn't meant to throw shade at everyone I've ever known for assuming I'm a strong, capable person XD I appreciate that—and I genuinely like being one of the Supergirls in my sphere. I can't imagine getting tired of being an advocate for the people I love. It's something I'm good at and enjoy doing.

I think this post is more about the little eight-year-old me, who was already feeling the ambivalence of being "the strong one" in her life, and the dismissal that happened when I shared that feeling. I've talked about this before (here and sort of here too), but I believe it's so important to take kids and teenagers seriously. Maybe there's a place for disillusioning them, but only after you've validated their feelings*. Only after you've asked questions and listened and tried to understand. If you want kids and teenagers to come to you with big stuff, listen to the small stuff, because—to them—it's all been big stuff.

Oh, and stand up for the strong kids too. We're tired.

~Stephanie

* and I mean "validate." A post on "truth versus validity" is in my drafts to be finished one day.

I Got Lucky in My Marriage

You know how when you say that you're lucky, there's always some Christian lurking nearby, waiting to pounce at you with a "You're not lucky, you're blessed"?

That's always rubbed me the wrong way. Are the people who got bad cases of Covid less blessed than I am, then? Are the people whose babies were born healthy more "blessed" than those whose babies had complications? Gross. I understand wanting to give God the glory, but—first of all, people who react "no, you're blessed" are annoying—there's something "off" happening there.

And then you have MARRIAGE. Now, if the options are "deserving" or "blessed" in marriage, I'm definitely blessed. There is NO WAY that I deserve a husband like Gabe. He is the biggest example in my life of God doing immeasurably more than I could ask or imagine, much less deserve.

However.

I also think we got lucky in our marriage, and here's what I mean.

Note: We've only been married six and a half years, and there are tons of life events we've yet to experience, like having kids or buying a house. These are just the still-naive thoughts rattling around in my brain, needing to be put to paper for processing purposes. I'm thinking here way more than I'm telling, no matter what my tone might be.

Before we got married, I knew what I wanted in a husband. In fact, I can probably find an old blog post with a literal list. I know it had things on it like "funny," "smart," "Christian," and "likes to argue." Most people have some kind of list in mind, and it might even have more practical things on it, like "wants the same number of kids as I do" or "is good at making decisions" or "good at communicating."

One thing that never occurred to me to put on the list is "willing to change."

The concept of changing in a relationship has a lot of baggage. We hear a lot about how you shouldn't have to change yourself to be with someone; you should be able to be yourself fully. We hear a lot about how girls shouldn't date guys hoping that they'll change, and having once been in a particular five-year Romantic Situation, I WHOLEHEARTEDLY agree with that.

I don't think "willing to change" was on Gabe's list for a wife either, and I think we just plain lucked out, because I believe a willingness to change is the number one thing that makes our marriage successful*.

When I hear stories about unhappiness in other relationships, it seems to me like the problem is an unwillingness to change. There is so much "I've always done X this way, and you just have to deal with it," or "We made an agreement that you would do Y, and—even though situations have changed and I can see that that's not working well for our family—I'm holding you to it forever," or "Sorry, I'm just really blunt/uninterested in that topic/impatient/easily angered/set in my ways."

There's so much, "When we got together, we both believed Z, and now that you're doing research/asking questions/digging deeper and starting to change your mind, I'm NOT here for it and I will NOT hear what you have to say."

There are so many repeat issues because nothing is altered. It's the ol' definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

I have to live with my husband F O R E V E R, and he has to live with me. There is NO way I'm living my forever with someone who insists on leaving the toilet seat up just because he's always done it, and he's not living with someone who insists that (dishwasher safe) pots be washed by hand just because she's always done THAT.

He's gonna start closing the damn cabinets, and I'm gonna start rinsing my damn dishes.

He's gonna start externalizing his feelings-based decision processes, and I'm gonna start accepting that not everything has to be a logical syllogism. He's gonna realize that it's not unfair for me to want reasons, and I'm gonna realize that processing my own emotions is necessary for life.

He's gonna recognize that "I'm just not in the mood to watch that" is unjustifiably selfish at times and he needs to get over it. I'm gonna recognize that interrupting him during his downtime is hurtful to him, and a violation of his boundaries.

Marriage is ALL ABOUT CHANGING—for the other person, for the good of society, to be more like Jesus. Changing even when you don't think you're in the wrong. Changing even when it's inconvenient for you or "just isn't the way you are."

I know that that piece of advice might be a slippery slope, especially for teens or people dating for the first time. I'm not yet sure how to qualify it in a way that's safer or more accurate.

I also don't mean for this post to sound arrogant, because I mean it: I think Gabe and I just got lucky. We didn't know that "willingness to change" should be on our lists, and we certainly didn't know that we each qualified. It was a happy accident. (I think we're ALL pretty shocked I've ended up being that kind of person.)

But if anyone—future kids, maybe—ever asks me what to look for in a partner, I think I know what I'm going to say now: be sure he/she's willing to change. Be sure that he/she is open to being wrong and reassessing. Be sure he/she understands that as situations change, adjustments will have to be made.

I don't think Gabe's and my marriage is successful* because he's funny, smart, likes to argue with me, or even because he's a Christian. I think our marriage works because we're both willing to change.

What a blessing XD

~Stephanie

* I'm not saying we don't have issues (and, I mean, we haven't even had kids or bought a house yet), but 1) I have no doubt that we will be married until death does us part, and 2) on the whole, we're happy.

The Only Reason You Should Read This is If You Want to Know About the War Inside My Brain

And possibly to become aware of the one inside your own.

Y'all know I've gotten a lot out of the Enneagram. It's been the biggest game changer for Gabe's and my growth in communication. It's helped us have a lot of moments where we go, "Ohhh, you're not mean/stupid/weak/oblivious, you're just seeing this in a completely different way than I am, and THAT'S why this is so painful/annoying/infuriating/confusing. Why don't you try to see X, and I'll try to see Y, and let's try this again."

I'm an Enneagram Eight, which means my core fear is betrayed or controlled; my most accessible emotion is anger; and I prefer to make decisions based on gut instinct, followed closely by reason, and I have to reach much deeper down to access my heart/feelings.

However, I've actually struggled a lot which whether I'm really an eight. Gabe and Cassidy are sure that I am, and their combined knowledge of me + the Enneagram leads me to believe they're right.

But I am so unlike other Eights.

Enneagram is cool because it allows for lots of variation. It's like me saying, "Stephanie is a white female with brown hair and green eyes." There are MILLIONS of other people on the planet who fit that description, and ZERO of them really look like me. Likewise, the fact that I'm an Eight means that I'll have some core things in common with other Eights, but I'll still be a completely different person.

But, I repeat, I am so unlike other Eights.

Enter MBTI.

For a while, Gabe and I had been wanted to learn more about Myers-Briggs personality types. And by that I mean, I've been wanting to learn about it, but haven't been willing to do the research, and Gabe will only do research via books and not the internet, so we were waiting for Christmas when we both knew I was going to get him books on the subject.

Which I did.

Gabe spent a lot of Christmas break reading about this type of personality assessment. Then we talked about it, and we discovered another game changer for me.

I've always thought that I was an ENTP ("The Debator") or maybe an ENTJ ("The Leader"):

an Extroverted (prefer to DO things rather than THINK about things)

iNtuitive (make leaps rather than love information)

Thinking (as opposed to Feeling)

Perceiving (see the world descriptively—the way things simply are)

or

Judging (see the world prescriptively—considering the way things should be)

Gabe cautiously put to me that he thought I was actually an ENFJ: a Feeling type rather than a Thinking type.

My whole life, I've believed that thinking is superior to feeling. In fact, feelings can sit quietly or get out. Intelligent people don't use feelings to make decisions. Some people may include feelings in a decision-making process, and that's fine if they need to do that to make themselves feel better, but really, the ideal way is to use reason and logic alone. Sort of like the apostle Paul and marriage: like, if you have to, fine, but not if you can resist.

My Enneagram Eightness fully supports this mindset. Go with your gut, make sure it makes sense, then move on. My whole life, I've cultivated my faculty of thinking and tried to become more and more reasonable. I equated becoming more reasonable with becoming smarter, wiser, and more actualized.

But...MBTI isn't about what you've cultivated—it's the opposite. MBTI is about your natural, initial, easiest-to-access preferences. MBTI says that everyone should work on cultivating their non-preferred "letter." Healthy Extroverts should develop their Introvert muscles, iNtuitive types should develop their ability to Sense, Thinkers should develop their Feeling skills, and Perceivers should develop their Judging faculties. MBTI isn't about limiting you; it's about helping you see where your natural limits are so that you're aware of them enough to move beyond them.

The very fact that I've spent my whole life leaning into Thinking as hard as I possibly can, with every tooth-gritted fiber of my being, so help me God, might be an indication that that is not my natural tendency.

It would also explain a lot of the asterisks and struggles to my being an Eight.

Eights thrive on controversy; ENFJs are friendly and considerate.

Eights are feelings repressed; ENFJs are feeling dominant.

Eights are generally in the "facts don't care about your feelings camp"; ENFJs are acutely aware of the way people are feeling.

Eights have tough shells; ENFJs are sensitive to criticism.

Eights just want to do their own things and let other people do their own things; ENFJs are kindergarten-teacher-type helpers.

Eights are big-pictured minded and tend to steamroll; ENFJs want to slow down and hear your life story, and how you feel about it.

Eights don't particularly care what you think about them; ENFJs want to be fun and popular.

Gabe and I really believe I'm both these types.

My Eightness + the way I was raised led me to bury my Feeling self as deeply as I could. Eights don't want to be hurt, and having feelings is the way you get hurt.

When I discovered I was an Eight, it was like unlocking the key to why I was the way I was—but there were also things that didn't make sense. Like, why did I sometimes shy away from confrontation depending on the makeup of the group I was in? Why was I sometimes more likely to validate someone's perspective, when in another context, I might eviscerate it with logic? Why did arguments sometimes make my chest squeeze when Eights were supposed to love them?

These questions made me feel weak and wrong—the Eightness again.

I know I don't need some stupid personality test to give me permission to feel—but in a (stupid, embarrassing) way, MBTI kind of did that for me. It explained why I feel sensitive to people's emotional states even though another part of me loves confrontation and arguments. It explained why I don't always assert myself and my point of view with all the conviction of a CEO-type Enneagram Eight.

I know some people are going to read this and roll their eyes, thinking, "Yeah, this is literally why personality tests—both Enneagram and MBTI—are silly and useless. These two paradigms are telling you something completely different. Clearly one of them (I mean, both of them, if we're being rational) is incorrect. People cannot be reduced to 'types' and any attempt to do so will lead to wild rationalization of results, and tons of asterisks and exceptions. People just are who they are; there are no types."

To which my ENFJ says, "I totally get that. People are super complicated. Personality types might not be for you, although I really think you'd benefit from doing a legitimate study of them—like reading books and talking to experts, not taking quizzes on Google and following Instagram accounts. Don't be dismissive of something you don't fully understand."

You don't wanna know what my Eight says.

~Stephanie