Avoiding Appearances

March 11, 2023

If you've grown up in Christian culture, you've probably heard the phrase that we are to "avoid the appearance of evil." This is why I wasn't allowed to take walks with a boy alone in high school or wear black nail polish, and why it was wrong for opposite genders to be roommates or for male church leaders to give girls rides home from youth group by themselves.

I think it's also why I wasn't allowed to confide in anyone about issues I had with authority figures in my life. Not to avoid the appearance of being "evil" myself, but to protect those in authority from having their "evil" (i.e., often simply "imperfect" or "human") behavior exposed.

I don't mean I was asked to keep silent about problems like sexual harassment or discrimination. I'm talking about not being allowed to vent to my friends—or even other adults in my life—about relationship conflicts I went through if they involved adult leadership. There is profound isolation in having your communication privileges taken away or your conversations eavesdropped on so that an authority figure can be protected from your "talking bad about them."

Will teenagers "talk bad" about adults in their lives? Absolutely. Will all of that talk be fair, accurate, or constructive? Absolutely not. Should teenagers still be allowed to have outlets for their frustrations? I believe so.

I'm a big believer in the truth coming out. If adults are truly acting unjustly, people will find out; no amount of damage control can prevent that. If adults are being mischaracterized by a petty teenager, that'll come out too.

The worst thing that can happen is raising an adult who thinks that discussing emotional damage inflicted by adults is sinful.

I recently started therapy. In the first or second session, my therapist asked me to clarify what I meant about someone. It took me five minutes to convey the impression I needed to, because I wandered alllllllllllll around the perimeter using euphemisms, "maybes," and "I don't know, but I guesses."

When I was finished, my therapist still wasn't completely clear on what I meant, but she said, "You said a lot, but it's like you were apologizing the whole time, or trying to qualify what you said. Why do you think you do that?"

I had to think about it for a second, but then I told her what I'm telling you now: I guess I'd internalized that speaking unflatteringly about authority figures is sinful, petty, and inappropriate.

"That's not true," she said, looking me right in the eyes.

"Oh," I said.

People have told me for years that everyone should go to therapy—maybe not long-term, but at least to check in with how they think and feel. We all have cognitive distortions: thought patterns or beliefs that aren't the healthiest. If we don't go to therapy, we might never know that our minds and lives could be better. I'm finally at a place where I can see if "people" have been right about therapy. Turns out they were.

I guess the message of this blog post is two-fold:

1) Isolating angry teenagers for the sake of your own reputation is gross.
2) Go to therapy.

~Stephanie

In Which I Attack Some of You, Probably

I don't understand when people lie to children as a joke.

If you do that, you will probably feel uncomfortable or attacked by this post, but honestly I'm not even sorry XD I think you should stop.

"How is the baby eating in the bedroom?" asks a four-year-old girl.
"Moms make food for their babies with their breasts," someone answers.
"Yeah," someone else chimes in. "Their boobs produce sandwiches."
Everyone laughs and moves on. The girl is left confused and misinformed about how her body works.

"What does that button do?" asks a little boy as he points to the trip meter reset button in the car.
"Oh, that?" says an older brother, smirking. "That's the self-destruct button."
The joke continues for years, leading the boy to have a panic attack when someone pushes it later.

"What's that?" asks a toddler when a motorcycle drives by in the distance.
"A velociraptor," says a neighbor. "Or maybe aliens."
The toddler frowns, knowing that's probably not true, but a little tendril of fear grows in her belly and resurfaces every time she hears that sound.

Some adults do this because they think it's funny. Here is what's actually happening: they have power (knowledge, life experience, an understanding of irony and sarcasm), and they're using it to abuse someone weaker (uninformed, innocent, still learning social rules).

When is that ever funny? Does it make you feel clever to perform for other adults nearby at the expense of a child? Do you feel smarter when you exploit the ignorance of someone a quarter your age? Do you feel powerful when a little person comes to you for help understanding the world and you make them the butt of a joke instead?

"Oh come on," you say. "It's not that serious. They're gonna have to learn about humor sometime."

Yeah, absolutely. In general, humor is a natural development. Once kids know how the world does work, they'll recognize the irony and sarcasm in hearing jokes about how it doesn't.

But you're not helping them develop that skill when you lie to them for funzies. Instead, you teach them that you're not trustworthy. You teach them that adults are there to mock them, not help them. You teach them that they don't speak the language everyone else does, but without offering to translate. The child will have to filter everything you say through the lens of "this might be a joke...he might be making fun of me...that might not be real..." The child will watch you say something and smirk at the people around you, and maybe she'll smile hopefully, trying to be part of what's happening, but she still doesn't know the truth.

The joke might never come up again, or the child might go on to have a panic attack. He might still choose to trust you later, but it will always come with a pit in his stomach as he takes the gamble.

Lying to a child as a joke is such a weak, cowardly, mean form of humor to me. Like, congratulations, you lied to someone who doesn't know any better? Do you also do their 5-piece peg puzzles faster than them and say, "HA HA"?

Do better with your knowledge. Do better with your experience. If there's an innocence-exploiting zinger just absolutely burning a hole in your brain, go ahead and make the joke, I guess, but at least circle back to tell the child the truth. Don't make them a prop for your stand-up routine.

Whew. We haven't heard from the Eight version of Stephanie in a while. I'm glad to know she's still here, and glad she has an ENFJ cohost for the day-to-day.

~Stephanie

P.S. I know the image isn't of a velociraptor, but it fits the color scheme of the blog 😂

Toddler Talk: Rewiring My Brain

One of the trends in millennial parenting is reframing the way we speak. In a lot of ways, I find the practice overwhelming and...overcomplicated. Don't tell your kids you're proud of them, because that teaches them to seek external validation. Don't tell your daughters they're pretty, because that might suggest their value lies in their looks. Don't tell them what NOT to do, because toddler brains have trouble interpreting negatives. Instead, say "You must be so proud of yourself," tell your daughters they're brave and smart, and tell toddlers what you WANT them to do instead.

I happen to believe in most of the suggested linguistic changes. The theories are backed by neuroscience and behavioral therapists.

However, there are simply too many things to keep track of as a parent. I cannot be mentally diagramming a sentence or putting it through Mr. Rogers' nine rules of speaking to children every time I need to reign in the chaos of breakfast. (I mean, I do try, and it's getting faster and easier, but...come on.)

Instead of doing an entire syntax extreme makeover, I've decided to focus on two changes: 1) stating what I want Elle TO do instead of what I want her NOT to do, and—the one I really want to talk about here— 2) being very intentional about the words "want" versus "need."

I don't know when I first noticed it, but there's a lot of misuse of "need" going around, especially when it comes to kids. It's not "Do you need more raspberries?" it's "Do you want more raspberries?" It's not "Do you need to hold the pretty necklace?" it's "Do you want to hold the pretty necklace?" Conflating the words isn't just confusing to someone learning language for the first time, I think it might be harmful to the person's mind, maybe even her soul.

Every day we're tricked into thinking we need something that we just want. There are real needs, like food, water, air, medicine, community, God, but we don't need to stop and get food just because we're hungry and we're out, or redo the entire bathroom because we had to replace the countertop, or buy a brand new dress because we're going to a wedding.

But even less obvious, I don't NEED Elle to let go of my hand so that I can do the dishes. I WANT Elle to let go of my hand because I WANT to do the dishes right now. The sentence goes from "Mama needs you to let go of her hand" to "Mama wants to use both hands to do the dishes."

"Needs" are vital, desperate, not particularly open to negotiation. That is not the way I want my daughter—or myself—to view life. "Wants" are choices: they return our power to us; they acknowledge that our desire is within our own boundaries. If I say that I WANT to use both hands to do the dishes, I am recognizing that it's a desire that comes from ME, not a need that must be met by someone else. In fact, I can choose to prioritize something else over my desire. I can decide that it is more important to honor Elle's craving for affection right now than it is to get the dishes done right away.

Stating things as "wants" helps me to hear what's really going on. When I say, "Mama wants to get dressed so we can leave" instead of "Mama needs to get dressed," I hear that being on time is important to me—but it isn't a need. I have the privilege of choosing punctuality for something that I want to do. The situation becomes a gift instead of a burden. It is within my power to decide do something, and within my power to prioritize being on time, and within my power to put Elle down and get dressed to make it happen. All of those are MY choices, none of them are imperatives, and none of them are Elle's problem to manage.

If we're running late, it's not because Elle made a mess at breakfast or acted like a rabid ferret when I tried to put her clothes on; it's because I chose to give her yogurt and only allot five minutes for getting her dressed. I don't NEED her to cooperate with me; I WANT her to, and I want to raise her in a way that makes her truly aware of the difference. We can achieve needs as a team, sure, but there's something sweeter and more intimate about achieving wants together. There's less pressure, less guilt, more joy.

At least that's the hope. And even if using want/need appropriately does nothing for Elle's brain, it's doing a whole lot for mine.

~Stephanie

Maybe I Shouldn't Write for a Living Anymore

"So," I said to Gabe, relatively out of the blue, as I do. "I was thinking about the part in Friends where [Character] decides to quit, and the boss is like, 'What if I gave you a better position?' and [Character] says, 'I want my own office. And an assistant. And an expense account' and the boss is like 'Done!' And then I was thinking about [Friend We Know In Real Life] and how his company wanted him back so much that they told him to name his price, he gave them an outrageous figure, and they actually agreed. I...I've never been that good at my job. I've never been so good that a company would do anything to keep me, so good that I could call the shots. And what's more, I've never cared to BE that good. But shouldn't I WANT to be that good? Shouldn't I want to excel at what I do?"

The conversation went on, and then landed here:

"You seem, in general," Gabe said. "And I don't want this to come out meanly, but you're in general a lot less passionate than you used to be."

"Oh, absolutely," I agreed. "Every single thing I think about, the first reaction I have is 'I'm tired.' The Fire Faery Story, work, dance, working out, church. I'm just tired. I don't wanna do ANYTHING. Ever."

"I'm sorry I keep coming back to this," Gabe said. "But I'm gonna say it again: you're burnt out."

burnout (n): 2a: "exhaustion of physical or emotional strength or motivation usually as a result of prolonged stress or frustration"

And I know he's right. It's not (just) depression; it's burnout.

My natural inclination is to think I'm lazy, not burnt out. "Everyone has responsibilities," I tell myself. "You don't get to pull a millennial and label it 'burnout' and use it as an excuse to do nothing for six months."

But also I know this isn't how being alive is supposed to feel. This isn't how God created me to feel. Something IS wrong. Who I am at my core is passionate, willing and excited to do hard things. But gah, I haven't had the energy to spare for my Core Self in years.

I would chalk this up to baby blues/losing my pink/adapting to being a mom, but I've felt this way since around Covid, whether or not the pandemic actually contributed.

So what did cause this burnout? The thing I keep coming back to is my work, but I don't want that to be the answer, for a lot of reasons. 1) I love the mission of Classical Conversations, 2) I love(d) my team, 3) I loved my role on my team, 4) the company does a phenomenal job of supporting work/life balance and seeing its employees first as people, then as workers. There's no reason my job should have burnt me out, but somewhere along the line, it started feeling more soul-sucking than makes any sense.

Is it that I'm not cut out to do the same thing for that long? I was assistant editor for 4–5 years, then a curriculum developer for 4–5 years. Those don't feel like long enough stretches to burn a person out. Maybe I switched roles at the right time to prevent burnout the first time, and it was simply time to switch again, only I transitioned to stay-at-home mom instead? Maybe this is the transition I need?

Every time there was a new process or metric or idea at work, I was over it before the announcement even concluded. I was tired. I didn't want to figure it out. I didn't want to comply. I wanted to find any cut-able corners, any excuse to defer or delay. That's not the kind of attitude I used to have. It used to be that if I didn't have the energy to comply, I at least had the energy to resist XD The last few years I've felt like my soul has had a flat tire. The project I'd been working on for the last few years—

Ohhhhh.

Oh.

It's that. It's that project.

I LOVE the vision for a work project. It has to do with writing, and y'all know I'm passionate about writing—probably more than anything else. Writing, stories, characters, growth. This project perfectly aligned with my passions, but I wasn't the one who got to call the shots. Frankly, my team and my boss weren't always either. We served the masters of classical education and the company's owner. My role was to contribute and create, but someone else's vision, even if I disagreed with it. Toward the end, that happened more and more. The project drifted farther and farther from what I wanted it to be, and what I had originally made it. Lots of revisions, lots of shoehorning. My square peg vision in a round hole mandate.

That's hard for me.

It's really hard to lease out your passion, to hand the reins to someone else when your desired destinations aren't the same. After a while, it starts to make you hate your passion, because your passion just reminds you of the cage you're in. It's easier to close your eyes than see a view interrupted by bars.

As Gabe said, I've been so stressed for so long that if anything even comes close to brushing against a stressor, I'm over it. Get it away from me. I hate it.

Maybe I'm not cut out to use my passions for hire...at least not the way they have been.

This post was basically supposed to say, "Hey guys, I'm burned out. I don't know why, but let's go on a journey together to get my spark back and if you're feeling the same way, we can encourage each other!"

Instead it's become "Hey guys, I'm burned out. I don't know why—op, maybe I do and maybe I shouldn't write for a living any more?"

I don't necessarily think I'm landing on that for good, but I do want to circle back to the post's original intent: recovery from burn out. I don't know how to do that yet, but I want to think about it (and blog about it), and then document the journey, because visibility helps me stay accountable.

Random initial thoughts that I can hear over the baby screaming at her dad despite doing so well for the first hour of nighttime sleep:

• drinking enough water
• eating protein at every meal
• going outside
• doing tasks intentionally slowly
• finding a rhythm with Bible time
• getting enough sleep
• scheduling coffee dates with friends

Maybe I'll sort recovery ideas into mind/body/heart categories? Maybe I'll try to integrate one new good habit per week?

Leave it to me to turn burnout recovery into a project. Don't worry, I'll work on it.

~Stephanie

Re: I Quit My Job

On January 8, I started a post called "I Quit My Job." I worked on the post once or twice, never finished it, and then I had to send my laptop back because it belonged to the company. For the last five weeks, I've been without a laptop for the first time in about seventeen years.

I didn't consider how difficult that would be for me. I used to be an avid journaler, from childhood until a few years ago. I don't know why I stopped except maybe depression, but blogging replaced the practice. It's not the SAME as journaling, because writing for the public is necessarily different than writing to yourself (or to no one), although I admit even my journaling style is sort of...self-conscious? I write as if someone might read it, not in terms of content, but style.

Anyway, that's sort of a tangent. The point is, for the first time in more than half my life, I found myself without an outlet.

A laptop has been like my right arm for a long, long time. Yeah, the particular one I had for the last nine and a half years (replaced periodically) was company property, but—and maybe I'm not supposed to say this?—I also used it for personal writing in my off time, and watched YouTube on it over lunch. I blogged on it. I checked Facebook on it. I organized photos for our annual Happy New Year cards on it. The images for this blog were stored on it. I bought baby shower and birthday gifts on it. It had all my browser bookmarks. It's how I accessed the documents I needed to do my job. It was my brain.

All the sudden, I had quit the job I would have had for a decade in June, which was at the company through which I'd been schooled since I was ten years old, and had to give up the piece of hardware that stored and helped process the thoughts in my increasingly colander-like mom brain.

Was it a relief to quit? Unbelievably so. I went from doing two jobs—mothering and curriculum developing—poorly and waking up every day feeling like a stack of Copper Lodge Library books was piled on my chest, taking meetings camera off and "in listen only mode, sorry" so my baby could sleep on my chest, rushing through baby-led weaning breakfasts of yogurt with raspberries so I could try to rewrite sections of a writing book I'd been developing for four years to...

Waking up to freedom. Not living under the crushing weight of nap math married to meeting math. Breakfasts that could take as long as they needed to, followed by clean-ups completely devoid of urgency. Walks. Target runs. Brushing my teeth every day.

But also...a weird void. A shapeless silence. Not because of a lack of work, but because of a lack of writing.

I had a lot of feelings about quitting my job, which I had started to process in the "I Quit My Job" draft, but had to abandon. Could I have used Gabe's laptop? Absolutely, and I did, for some things, because I am still working a tiny handful of hours a week as a contractor. But using a different interface without all my bookmarks and documents and trackpad settings felt like trying to write a dissertation in crayon with my left hand. I could do what I HAD to do, but no way was I going to try to blog. So the thoughts sat unprocessed.

In a way, I might be glad? I haven't read over the "I Quit" draft, but I know it's disorganized and filled with lots of guilt and catharsis/validation seeking. I didn't go out at work the way I wanted to. I ran myself into the ground and then resigned knowing there was much that my team needed me to do that I never would. I'm embarrassed and sad.

But now that I've had six weeks to settle, I care less. I've gotten some distance. There's no way I could've continued the way I was. I am so much happier. Elle is getting a much better mother. Classical education will always be there. Zero regrets.

I guess the biggest lesson I've learned so far is how important writing is to me. I've always known that on an intellectual level, but I've been reacquainted with the fact on a gut level. My mind has not been well for last few weeks, and I can feel it unfurling and breathing a sigh of relief with this post. I have so much to say, so much I need to bring out in the light of words and examine.

I've had four blogs since I was fourteen, each unintentionally paired with an era of my life, although they overlapped. The first was called Carpe Diem and it was naive and bubbly and random, exactly what you'd expect from a girl in 2008. The next one began in 2011, I think, and was called Pandora (a darker, sadder, grittier side of myself, but theoretically paired with hope), renamed to Peripeteia ("a sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances") when I felt like I had synthesized the light and dark sides of myself. (You'll notice this blog isn't linked. I've set it to "private." We don't talk about the Peripeteia phase now XD) Then there was Reason in the Rhyme, from 2013–2020ish. I guess I'd call that my thoughtful, sort of academic stage. Then we have Becoming Me, from 2019–today.

I'm beginning a new era now, and normally I'd start a new blog. However, this one is different, because it's always been about changing, growing, becoming. Maybe this is my forever blog home.

One thing is for sure: writing is my sanity, and I don't intend to go this long without a dose ever again.

~Stephanie

Why You Shouldn't Do Revenge Donuts in Someone's Yard

A couple of years ago, one of my Facebook friends shared this:

It took me a minute (and maybe even some researching) to figure out what was going on. I had no idea that grass clippings were a problem for motorcycles. Apparently they can be as dangerous as ice to cyclists, reducing the traction of their tires. I'm not the one who mows our lawn, but the meme made me sad, because what if we had left clippings in the road and a cyclist had retaliated by destroying our yard? How sad to be vandalized for a crime we hadn't known we'd committed.

For the last five years, we've lived in Kernersville. There's a road, Teague, that every time I drove past, some jackass would whip out in front of me and make me slam on my brakes. It was one of the more annoying constants in my life. Last year, Gabe and I moved. Now we drive ON Teague rather than past it, and guess what? You can't see cars coming from the right when you're stopped at the stop sign. People weren't cutting me off because they were rude or bad drivers; they were doing their best, just like I now have to do—and about half the time I still wince because I've "cut someone off."

On the rare occasions that I get to shop by myself these days, I no longer park next to the cart return or as close to the store as possible, even if there's a spot open. As a mom, I know how much easier it is to put a car seat from the car directly into a cart rather than have to walk a ways with the car seat bumping into your leg, jostling your baby. I think back to all the times I thought, "Score!" and pulled into a choice spot that—as a young, able-bodied person—I honestly didn't need. I feel retroactively guilty for taking spots like that, but the truth is I just didn't have any idea what makes a parent's life harder or easier. 

My dad once shared a podcast episode by Brené Brown where she talks about choosing to believe that people are doing the best they can. Apparently people who believe that others are doing their best have a better time in general. They're less angry, more compassionate. Since that episode, I've tried to believe the best in others, but humbling, concrete experiences like the three above really hammer the point home.

These days, I'm more likely to imagine why someone might have acted the way they did rather than ascribe malice to them. I'm glad God is doing this work in me before Baby Elle is old enough to understand my words. I want her to be someone who believes the best in others.

Maybe people aren't as rude/stupid/careless/mean as we think. Maybe they just don't know that grass clippings are a hazard, can't see your car coming from that angle, or haven't experienced the problems of parenthood.

~Stephanie

What's in a Name?

One year ago today, I found out I was pregnant with Baby Elle. A chemical pregnancy/miscarriage in April 2024 and my allergy to believing good things kept my reaction on a very short, cynical leash.

To be honest, I don't feel a connection between Baby Elle and the baby who lived in my stomach, even though I eventually allowed myself to be joyful about the pregnancy. The person whose booty made my right ribs ache does not seem like the same person who laughs when I shake my head and say "kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss!" She was very considerate in the womb: never woke me up, didn't give me nausea or tummy stretch marks, kicked reassuringly whenever I started to question if she was okay. Still, I was hesitant to ascribe personality to her because I didn't really know her, so it didn't feel respectful.

On the outside, Elle is not exactly "considerate." She fusses if she's left alone for more than 20–90 seconds and wakes us up many times during the wee hours. I will say she still has a habit of sighing or twitching whenever I worry about her while she sleeps, which is nice. When she isn't feeling lonely, she's very sweet and chipper. She is the queen of eye contact. She is generous with her smiles. She actively tries to cope with discomfort (although she does often fail) and is a delight to take places, from the Honeybee Festival to Garrett and Nia's wedding. She does get impatient and vocal when frustrated (e.g., trying to crawl), but same, girl.

When I look at the pregnancy test or pictures of me pregnant, it doesn't feel like "Elle" in there. Maybe that's because we didn't settle on her name until right before she was born? (And we didn't settle on her middle name until they asked us in the hospital and we realized we knew.)

Although, in a way, Gabrielle has been named for a very long time 🙂 She's named after Gabe, yes, but may I present to you an excerpt from a post on another blog, before Gabe and I even became boyfriend and girlfriend.




(The other name was Kendra, but unfortunately that one died due to the classic "no, because I knew someone with that name" protest from Gabe.)

If Baby Elle's first name is for Gabe and all of these folks that I love, her middle name, Ember, is for me. Ember is the name of the main character in the Fire Faery Story, which I've been working on since I was twelve years old. The other characters were originally based off of friends (including the Ellie, Jesse, and my sister referenced in Gabrielle), but Ember was based off of me.

Gabrielle Ember Meter. Your name is full, but I know your God-crafted soul is fuller, more beautiful, and more beloved than our human minds can even imagine.

~Stephanie

This Might Might Be Completely and Utterly a "Me" Problem

As happens a lot, I had a revelation about three quarters of the way through this post, which resulted in a totally unexpected worldview shift. Come along for the journey below 😂

I've been procrastinating a blog topic for a while now because...well, for two reasons. 1) It's a big topic. It's going to require a lot of thinking/processing/wrestling, and I haven't felt like doing that. 2) People are going to have Opinions, and I don't need them. It'd be too harsh to say I don't care about people's opinions, it's just that they won't factor into what I decide to do. In a way it feels misleading to blog about this (especially if I'm going to share the link to Facebook) and also be disinterested in conversation about the topic.

Okay, so what is the topic? My postpartum philosophy/plans.

There are two extremes and a million happy mediums in between. The two extremes: Bounce Back Boss Babe, and Healing Hibernating Hippie.

Bounce Back Boss Babe
You birth your baby and as quickly and seamlessly as possible get back on your feet cooking, cleaning, running errands, and taking your trendily dressed baby with you on light jogs.

- Very appealing from a pride standpoint—people will comment on how you have it all together, you can fake making motherhood look easy
- Required to some degree by American society. Even my company—which I LOVE working for and relies on family culture—only provides two weeks of paid maternity leave.
- What I saw growing up—especially from my dance teachers. They danced until they went into labor, and then sometimes performed in the recital like a week or two postpartum. Talk about #goals...right?

Healing Hibernating Hippie
Postpartum is treated as a sacred transitional time, where the mother is shielded from all strain and responsibility for weeks, fed in a way that prioritizes her healing, and cautioned against hosting visitors.

- Very appealing from a holistic, body-respectful standpoint—the first forty days of postpartum can allegedly make or break your entire experience of new motherhood
- Unquestionably accepted, nearly enforced, in many Eastern and Native American cultures.
- Radically different from anything I've ever seen anyone do. Granted, most women's postpartum experiences are pretty private (another Western thing), so I don't really know their approaches, but I'm guessing they didn't have a team making every single meal or keeping them warm around the clock.

I just started reading a book called The First Forty Days. I registered for it thinking that it was a cookbook on how to nourish a new mother, and it is...but around the first 55% is actually more philosophical. It's sparked a lot of feelings for me, most of which are summed up in this text to Cassidy:

It's probably that last sentence that really gets me. As a child, I was often told that I was lazy and selfish, which I've blogged about before. Although everyone in my life now tries to reassure me that that isn't true, internalized beliefs are hard to shift. Plus, both sides of my personality would like me to choose the Boss Babe approach to postpartum, albeit for different reasons.

The ENFJ in me desperately wants to behave in the most socially appropriate, commendable way. She doesn't want to be labeled as demanding or inconsiderate; she doesn't want people to talk about her behind her back; she doesn't want to ask more of her village than she has done for others. Yes, I've brought friends a meal or two—but I've also held the baby and watched the new mother do dishes or fold laundry, which is a huge No No in the Hibernating Hippie approach.

The Eight in me desperately wants to show the world how tough and capable I am. Due to sheer luck and the grace of God, I've had an extremely healthy, easy pregnancy. The Eight wants to carry that into postpartum and motherhood, proving that my mind and body are exceptionally strong. Not only does she shirk asking for help (something in common with the ENFJ), she shirks the idea of even needing it.

To be honest, I think I could get the Eight on board easier than the ENFJ. The Eight understands that the body keeps the score. Nourish the body and everything else becomes easier. I also really WANT to embrace the Hibernating Hippie approach, and the Eight thrives on fighting for what I want, even when it might make people annoyed or gossipy.

But I know that community is a powerful factor in motherhood, and community is the ENFJ's domain. She's the one who maintains and repairs relationship, and monitors when I'm being too "extra."

Obviously there are a million shades of medium between the Boss Babe and the Hibernating Hippie, and I'm sure I'll color myself accordingly when the time comes. It's just...modern American culture kinda sucks. I've been thinking so when it comes to religion for a long time, and now I'm learning that the suck extends to postpartum expectations too.

Gabe and I have an INCREDIBLE village, people who have already told us that they want to help in whatever way is most helpful and that they never want us to feel alone.

So...I am just now realizing that this might be completely and utterly a Me problem. No one has told me that I'm "extra." I've already said that people insist that I'm not lazy or selfish.

Wait, is the problem with postpartum that moms often can't make themselves ASK for help, not that their villages wouldn't show up?

*stares out the window for several seconds*

Is my real problem the vulnerability element? I don't want to appear weak or look disheveled in front of people? I don't want to be the first mom in my millennial circle to embrace a more traditional postpartum philosophy?

Well damn, now the Eight is really perking up. She might even be ready to take on the ENFJ.

I guess get ready for me to ask you for meals and help with chores cuz...we might be doing this.

~Stephanie

Parenting Pillars: Listen to Your Body

Children are the ultimate masters of listening to their bodies. They arrive pre-wired to know when they feel full, hungry, sleepy, safe, dry, in pain. Most adults have lost this skill, for a host of reasons. I (as a completely inexperienced parent) think one of the best things we can do is simply not get in the way of a child's bodily intuition. With that in mind, here are the points/tenants/ideas that Gabe and I came up with and sorted into the Bodily Autonomy category.

1) Listen to your body.
This is a whole separate post, but I believe the body doesn't have an agenda, aside from keeping you safe. It's not trying to trick you or manipulate you. Interpreting the body's signals can be tricky, but it is not going to lie to you. Your body will tell you when you're safe or when something needs to change. You can trust it. I know my kids will probably get sick of hearing me say, "Listen to your body" when it comes to everything from eating to exercising to hugging.

2) Food/eating is neutral.
It seems like people have a lot of food-related issues these days: overeating, under-eating, eating for the wrong reasons, demonizing food groups. I'd like to keep food neutral in our home. Food is fuel. Different foods do different things for (and to) your body. I don't want to cajole the Tot into eating veggies and make dessert a special prize at the end. I don't want to cheer when she tries a new food. I want her to eat when she's hungry, stop when she's full, and try foods if she's interested in them. If we don't make food a big deal, maybe she can grow up without arbitrary or harmful associations.

I've noticed how well Gideon (age two and a half) listens to his body when it comes to hunger. If he isn't hungry, he doesn't want to eat. When his body tells him that he is hungry, he will literally stop mid-play and ask for a snack. He will also stop in the middle of eating his favorite dessert if his body tells him that he's finished, something I don't even think I'm capable of. What a gift to be able to listen to your body without your brain getting in the way and saying, "But it TASTES good and we don't get to have this every day." 

3) Allow risks, remove hazards.
I don't know who first coined this distinction, but I really like it. A "risk" is a challenge or uncertainty that a child has the ability to observe and assess for herself. A "hazard" is a danger that is hidden or beyond her skill level to handle. Climbing a tree is risky, but an unexpectedly rotten branch is hazardous. Building a treehouse is risky, but encountering a rusty nail is hazardous. Kids need to be free to explore, even if that means bopping their heads on a table or twisting an ankle when they leap off a platform. Experiencing the cause and effect of age-appropriate risks will help them become better risk-assessors, which ultimately leads to confidence, freedom, and better safety.

4) We don't talk about other people's bodies.
This one has a lot of nuance, a lot of asterisks. I do want Tot to be able to ask questions if someone looks different, whether because of race or physical handicaps or all kinds of things. I almost want to change this point to "We don't talk about other people's weight" or "shape," but I'd like it to extend to things like commenting negatively on acne or body hair, and people's private parts. Your body belongs to you (and God), and it's safe—and important—to become familiar with its parts and names and functions. But just like your body belongs to you, other people's bodies belong to them. That means we don't touch or talk about them unless it's appropriate.

I don't want is to normalize comments about bodies like "he doesn't need that cheeseburger, does he" or "she needs to hit the gym" or "even "she's lost so much weight, she looks great." Instead, I want to teach Tot that what bodies can DO and who people ARE are more important than what they look like. "Look how strong you are" or "See how kind she is" are the things I want Tot to grow up hearing.

5) Independent Play
I talked about this in this in the Mental Freedom post, and I don't have anything to add, except that it belongs in the Body category too. Let kids do their thing.

6) Baby-led Weaning
This concept isn't quite parallel to the others, but we want to do baby-led weaning. When Tot starts to show an interest in solid food (assuming she has teeth at that point), we plan to give her age-appropriate pieces of "real" food instead of going the baby food route.

7) Your body belongs to you (and God).
Unless it is for hygiene or safety reasons, no one has the RIGHT to touch you. No. One. You do not owe physical contact to your parents, your grandparents, your friends, or—one day—your significant other, and you don't have the right to touch other people without their permission either. In our house, there will be a rule during play that if anyone ever says "stop" or "no," we stop and our hands go up, immediately.

(I can see a world where a kid gets drunk on power with this rule, and rapidly goes back and forth with "stop," "go," "stop," "go" just to watch the control they have over a friend or parent. The natural consequence of that will probably be that the friend or parent tires of the game and doesn't want to play any more, and Miss Power Drunk is left bored for a bit.)

Tangent: I kind of have a problem with tickling for this reason. Sometimes bodies reflexively giggle even if we aren't having a good time or don't like something.* I have memories of being maybe two years old and someone at church picking me up and blowing raspberries on my bare tummy all the time. I remember my body laughing, but I HATED it. I tried to avoid this person as much as possible, but I was two, so I didn't have a lot of control over where I went. Because my body would laugh, everyone thought it was fine, and I didn't have language to express how uncomfortable it made me. I'm not saying I think tickling is wrong; I'm just saying that if a kid is squirming away or shying away from you, maybe listen to THAT message instead of their potentially involuntary laughter.

As we get familiar with Tot and she gets familiar with people close to her, we'll all learn each other and we will probably not have to ask permission for every little physical contact. However, people's physical boundaries can change depending on their mood or maturity level, and that is always okay. Your body belongs to you; their bodies belong to them. Just because Tot hugged you seven visits in a row does not mean she OWES you a hug on the eighth. If you assume hugs are always okay and go in for one and she says, "No thank you, not today," then two things are true: 1) you did nothing wrong, since there was strong precedent for that being okay, and 2) she did nothing wrong by asserting her physical preference today.

Now, if you get butt-hurt about it or make her feel guilty/ashamed for taking charge of her own body, THAT'S when you're wrong XD

How amazing would it be if we could raise kids who are baffled if someone acts like they're owed access to other people's bodies? How amazing would it be if we raised kids who were comfortable stating and enforcing their boundaries?

I hope we get to see how amazing it is :)

~Stephanie

*Mm, maybe this is a time when bodies can "lie"? I gotta think more about that.

Parenting Pillars: Mental Freedom

Today I attempt to process my thoughts on the "Mental Freedom" category of Gabe's and my fledgling parenting philosophy. When we went away for our planning weekend, we brainstormed a bunch of ideas that were important to us and then sorted them into four different categories: healthy religion, listening to your body, mental freedom, and emotional intelligence. These are the ideas that got sorted into the Mental Freedom list, but I think there's going to be some overlap. For example, I know "Independent play" will also show up in the Listen to Your Body category.

1) Your boundaries matter.
A lot of the Mental Freedom bullet points below have roots in the idea of boundaries. You might remember my whole boundaries journey and how groundbreaking that was for me. It's something I want to pass on to our kids.

I don't know what that will look like. Especially at first, I imagine kids will need adults to draw all the boundaries for them, to teach them what healthy boundaries look like as opposed to ones born out of paranoia or spite. But as soon as it makes sense, I want to start respecting my kids' boundaries. I want them to know that their voice matters. With practice, I hope their boundaries will grow to be wise and reasonable and held with neither bitterness nor guilt.

2) Imagination
I'm not sure if imagination is something that can be taught, but I definitely think it's something that can be squashed or stunted. Our goal is not to squash or stunt, and to encourage our children in exploring worlds, asking questions, and not being afraid to play pretend.

3) Reading
Gabe and I love to read, and believe so strongly in the power of stories. (You can actually hear me ranting about this subject on an Everyday Educator podcast episode here.) Even if our kids don't grow up to be avid readers, we want to foster a family culture of stories and talking about stories.

4) Independent play
Ah, independent play. My personal Achilles heel XD I don't know if it's because I'm cripplingly extroverted or what, but I would not consider myself good at independent play, and it's a skill we want to develop in our children. Not only should it help them grow in confidence, but it should also make life a little easier for us as parents if we don't have to entertain our kids all day.

When kids are older, "independent play" will probably look like letting them get bored enough to devise games on their own, but when they're infants and toddlers, independent play looks like butting out. Don't narrate what they're doing 24/7. Don't obsessively point out cause and effect as if they don't have eyes and a brain of their own. Don't tell or show them how to use a new toy—let them figure it out. When adults play with kids in a prescriptive way, it can stunt the child's creativity and confidence. Just let them figure it out. Let them use the toy "wrong." If they're playing with it, how is that "wrong"?

5) There are different types of intelligence.
This is one principle that Gabe has had to help me with, because if there's one thing I've always been sure of, it's that some people are stupid. However, Gabe flat out disagrees, and I think he's right. Gabe believes that everyone has some type of intelligence, and that every type is valuable and worthy of respect. He's done a little bit of research, and science backs this up. Howard Gardner identified seven types of intelligence: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal. I think society tends to glorify linguistic and logical, labeling everyone else as—at worst—stupid, or—at best—maybe "street smart."

We want to raise kids who know they are intelligent in some way, but—even more importantly—kids who know that everyone they interact with is also intelligent in some way. We want to raise kids who see the value of other people, encourage them in their strengths, and support them in their weaknesses. If we have a child who's gifted in a socially glorified type of intelligence, we don't want that to be a license to look down on anyone else. Likewise, if linguistic or logical intelligence isn't the way God has gifted our child, we don't want her to ever feel "less than" because of that—because she isn't. 

6) Sharing is a choice.
Think about sharing with peers as an adult. If you're at a conference taking notes and someone takes your pen from you or says, "I want a turn," what would your reaction be?

Maybe, "I'm sorry, I'm using it right now" or "I'm sorry, but this is my pen. Do you have one of your own?" Imagine the conference leader coming over and saying, "No, you have to share. Give that person your pen."

Absurd. Adults aren't forced to share things that belong to them against their will. In fact, that can be kind of a dangerous precedent. You probably know someone (or ARE someone) who gives away too much of themselves or lets others use their things when it makes them sad or uncomfortable—maybe even their own bodies.

Sharing is important. It teaches patience, self-sacrifice, and how to engage in the give-and-take that makes the world go 'round. But if we force children to share in the wrong way, I think it sends a bad message.

If a child is actively playing with something that belongs to her, it's her turn—until she decides to stop. She is not morally obligated to interrupt what she's doing to make someone else happy. If it's a toy that belongs to a friend or the whole family, then the child doesn't "own" it, and when she's finished it's appropriate to let others use it too. But if it's a toy that's special to her, she may choose not to share it even when she isn't using it. We do this as adults all the time. Just because I'm not wearing my favorite ring that Nana gave me doesn't mean I have to let a friend borrow it.

And it goes both ways. If someone else is playing with a toy, your child might have to wait a long time for her turn, and if it's someone's special toy, she may never get to use it. Sharing is caring, sure. But having and respecting boundaries is caring too.

7) You can do hard things.
All of this is hard. But one mantra that we want to teach our kids from Day 1 is that they can do hard things.

When Gideon, my nephew, was about fourteen months old, I got to hang out with him one-on-one and I said something about him being strong. He looked at me and said, "What is that?" and I paused because it felt like an important moment of definition. I wanted him to know that there are different kinds of strong, that the word doesn't just mean physical prowess, but I knew I had to tell him something simple enough to be useful for his little toddler brain. After a second I said, "If you are 'strong,' that means you can do hard things," and that's a definition I've continued to feel good about.

~Stephanie

I'm Glad God Made Us Wait

In January 2024, I wrote a post called The Fourth Heartbreak Continues. In it, I reference the post I made in January of 2020 where I processed how heartbroken I was to be called to move away from Raleigh, but I knew that I could trust God's plan. In Heartbreak Continues, I admitted that I still didn't know why God had upended our Raleigh life, and that I was actually pretty bitter about it.

I definitely didn't know why we weren't getting pregnant. I looked around and people were getting pregnant by accident, or getting pregnant despite eating like garbage, or getting pregnant despite never moving their bodies. It honestly didn't make me angry or sad, it just confused me. Gabe and I were physically healthy (doctor-confirmed) and financially stable, had a healthy marriage, and I was dedicated to eating well and exercising, while being careful to eat enough calories and not put too much stress on my body. I didn't drink alcohol or caffeine, and I ate weird stuff like oysters and roasted tomatoes that were supposed to help with fertility.

It didn't feel RATIONAL, like writing 2 + 2 = 4 on a math test and having it marked "wrong." I was more indignant than sad, more confused than angry.

Even more confusingly, I was quite happy the way things were. I have a draft of a post called "Pregnancy Ambivalence" that will probably never see the light of day now, but in it I talked about how I was 100% certain that I wanted kids—however, if it weren't for a biological clock, I wouldn't necessarily want them NOW. I loved having a clean house and going on random roadtrips and getting sleep and working on the Fire Faery Story and not being interrupted when I talked to Gabe and eating out on a whim and never having to get a sitter. I was really happy, but due to the aforementioned biological clock, I was also under a lot of pressure to have kids ASAP, because I really, REALLY did want kids.

It was all very confusing—lots of moving pieces, lots of mixed feelings. We prayed to get pregnant for years, and I know other people were praying with us. But nothing happened, and I couldn't understand why.

I did trust God, and not because I was a good Christian girl who had a lot of faith, but because God had been extremely kind in letting me see a lot of past answers to "why not right now?" Maybe he knows how much I need proof, but he eventually allowed me to see why I didn't get into Wake Forest, why my high school boyfriend and I didn't work out, why Gabe and I didn't start dating sooner, etc. I really did trust that if Gabe and I weren't having kids, God had a good reason.

But what the hell was it?!

Well, we are finally pregnant, and God has been kind enough to open my mind to some small reasons and one BIG reason why now is a better time.

Small Reason 1: We have a house.
Yes, we were financially stable before, but where were we gonna put a baby in the apartment? I have no doubt we would've figured it out, but our apartment was FULL. We did not have an extra bedroom. What we did have? A third-story climb to reach our front door and neighbors from Hell on four sides.

Small Reason 2: I got to do my big 30th birthday beach trip.
That was probably the most magical trip of my entire life, and it would have been an ordeal with a baby or toddler. We would have had to either find childcare for an entire week or bring the kid with us, which would have altered the vibe in all kinds of ways I wouldn't have wanted.

Small Reason 3: I'm medicated.
Depression is still a struggle, but before medication, I was...becoming next to useless. There's no way I could have taken good care of a baby or toddler when there were weeks where I couldn't get out of bed, brush my own teeth, or eat my own meals. I have hard days now, but I don't have a lot of impossible days.

Small Reason 4: I've paused work on the Fire Faery Story.
To be honest, this might be more accurately added to a list of "HOW we finally got pregnant" instead of "why." The Fire Faery Story takes  e v e r y t h i n g  I have. All of me. Actually, it clearly takes MORE than what I have, because it's still not done yet. It's basically my first child, and I think I can only gestate one baby at a time. For years I chose the FFS, but when I took a YEAR off...my mind and body finally had room for a human baby.

Small Reason 5: I didn't need or enjoy my home office.
For the first time ever, in the new house I had a whole room dedicated to my work. It was fun to decorate it and hang up art that was all about me...but I didn't actually like being in there. It was the longest possible walk from the living room and kitchen. I felt kinda marooned and would actually avoid working in there, instead opting for the kitchen table or couch.

Small Reason 6: We didn't know what to do with "the big room."
Most of our second floor is a loft/bonus room. We kicked around a lot of ideas about what to do with it, but none of them inspired us. The space was a purposeless void—until we needed a nursery and everything clicked: we could integrate my office and all the bookshelves into the big room. We did it over Martin Luther King Jr. Day and oh. my. GOSH. This is EXACTLY what the big room was meant to be! It looks like a real room now, and I actually love working in the space. It's big enough that when Tot gets older, she can easily play in the room while I work.

Small Reason 7: I got a raise.
Boy, is that divine timing, especially since I'll be taking some time off when the Tot is born.

Small Reason 8: I can suddenly swallow pills?
I dunno. I've always choked on anything bigger than, like, a single sprinkle, but for some reason about six months ago my body was like, "Oh, you mean swallow the pill. Like food," and now everything is better.

The Big Reason: Gabe and I are completely different people than we were five years ago.
When we first started trying to get pregnant, my goal would've been to raise smart, tough kids. I didn't know there was a difference between transparency and vulnerability. I didn't know anything about boundaries or attachment theory. I probably would've believed in spanking my kids. My plan for tantrums would've been simply to cut them off, forbid them. I knew nothing about child psychology or development.

Now I'm obviously no child psychologist or parenting expert, but holy cow am I glad Past Me didn't have kids.

My goal is no longer to raise smart, tough kids. My goal is raise to raise kind, well-regulated kids. My goal is to be a parent who apologizes, and takes responsibility for her own emotions, and makes her kids feel seen.

I know Gabe and I aren't finished growing, and 2035 Stephanie will look back on Now Me and have a lot of notes. But I cannot believe I'm fortunate enough to be able to say,

"God, I think I'm finally starting to get it. Thank you for making us wait."

~Stephanie

The Riskiest Post to Date

I am cripplingly aware that the "best parents" are people who don't have kids yet, which makes me self-conscious/embarrassed/hesitant to post anything parenting- or baby-related that Gabe and I have been talking about. We don't actually know what we're doing, and the likelihood is so high that I'm setting myself to fail or to write things that will discourage me when I look back on them years later.

Since I was twelve, I've kept a Valentine's Day Journal where I chronicle each Valentine's Day, and in 2020, I started saying, "Maybe this is the last Valentine's Day just the two of us!" and every year, I'd look back on that, still childless, and feel bitter and discouraged. If I now put into writing our goals and plans and hopes and parenting theories, then I have a checklist with which to give myself a failing grade in as little as 12–24 months (not to mention people often feel they have the right to critique, and that's exhausting).

However. This blog is called "Becoming Me," and since its inception in 2019, it has been the place where I record the thoughts I'm having and changes I'm making with regard to evolving as a person. Upgrading to "Mom" is probably THE BIGGEST change I'm ever likely to make. It would be insane not to process my thoughts and struggles here.

So, here I go, opening myself up to critique from all of y'all and, even worse, Future Me.

Gabe and I went away last weekend to plan: books to read, birth plan, courses to take, boundaries that are important to us, parenting ideas, etc. Most of that doesn't warrant a lot of unpacking. The books we ordered were Good Inside; Boundaries in Marriage; Hunt, Gather, Parent; and Simplicity Parenting. The birth plan basically boils down "I want to be left alone and given the freedom to listen to my body." The courses we signed up for are "Built to Birth," a Red Cross infant CPR class, and a giant on-demand course called Parent Prerequisite that has videos on everything you could possibly want the first year.

The more interesting, fun, and risky conversations surrounded boundaries that are important to us, and our general stab at parenting philosophy. I think this post will be about the second one.

The Airbnb where we stayed had a fire pit and s'mores supplies, so we sat by the fire, ate, and brainstormed on paper. No goal, limits, or sorting at first, just things that were important to us or phrases that felt foundational. The page became littered with things like "you are loved," "independent play," "psychologically, meltdowns cannot be teachable moments," and "listen to your body." It was fun letting our minds unfurl and seeing where we agreed or brought something brand-new to the conversation.

After brainstorming and talking, we took some time by ourselves to take a break, read, whatever. I ended up sorting the brainstorm session into four categories, which are like a draft of our parenting pillars/philosophy. It is those that I'm going to record here, knowing that we know nothing 🤣

Healthy Religion
- You are loved.
- God is powerful and mysterious.
- God works through people.
- Know thyself.
- "God made you special, and he loves you very much."

Listen to Your Body
- Independent play
- Baby-led weaning
- Food/eating is neutral.
- Allow risks, remove hazards.
- We don't talk about other people's bodies.
- Your body belongs to you (and God).

Mental Freedom
- Your boundaries matter.
- Imagination
- Reading
- Independent play
- There are different types of intelligence.
- Sharing is a choice.
- You can do hard things.

Emotional Intelligence
- Regulation tools
- Meltdowns are not teachable moments.
- You can be mad, but you can't be mean.
- All feelings are welcome; all behaviors are not.
- Everyone is responsible for their own feelings.

I'm literally sweating putting all this out there XD Which, I know, is a choice. Like, I could just not say any of this out loud.

*stares at the wall and nods*

But here we are.

My plan is to write a post about each of the four categories to help myself think through what I mean. There's also the added benefit that, if you're reading this, we want you in our baby's life, and being on the same page can only make that richer and smoother for everyone ☺️

Here's to publicly diving into a sea of ignorance and naïveté. *raises bottle of coconut Bai water*

~Stephanie

Five Reads Later...

So, I'm reading The Great Gatsby again. I guess this is going to be an annual series.

I think the first time I posted about Gatsby, I said I was starting to think the term "great" in the title was sarcastic. I don't remember what I wrote about last year, but the post title has the word "evanescence" in it, so it must've been something about the fleeting, ephemeral vibe of the book.

This year, I'm noticing the narrator, Nick, and coming away with a new perception of him.

Nick begins the book with a piece of advice from his father about not criticizing people because they might not have had the same opportunities he's had. "In consequence," Nick says, "I'm inclined to reserve all judgments."

Nick then proceeds to write a book that is nothing short of a collection of judgments.

Nick also says that he himself is "one of the few honest people [he's] ever known," but does things like "pretend to be surprised." He even says to another character that because he's thirty years old, he's "five years too old to lie to [himself] and call it honor." So, he used to lie, at least to himself? He used to justify dishonesty being calling it honorable?

Nick is the narrator. He's the only way we learn anything about the characters. We don't know what Tom or Daisy or Gatsby or Jordan really meant or thought or felt or even said; we only have Nick's version of it.

Nick who claims to reserve all judgments and to be honest, but who judges people constantly and apparently lies under certain conditions.

On several occasions, Nick is sarcastic.

"Do you want to hear about the Butler's nose?" Daisy whispers to him at dinner.
"That's why I cam over tonight," Nick says. Of course, he's not being serious.

"Oh, do you like Europe?" someone asks Nick later. "I just got back from Monte Carlo."

Nick replies, "Really." You can hear the flat, sarcastic tone Fitzgerald gives him. No question mark. Just a judgmental "Really."

Later, chapters after telling readers that Tom dislikes being labeled "the polo player," Nick asks after "Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?" in a voice, I imagine, loaded with irony.

When a woman has just been struck by a man at a small party, Nick leaves. He takes his hat from the chandelier and walks out the door, tired of the drama.

For a time, Nick has a "short affair with a girl who live[s] in Jersey City," but ghosts her when her brother starts giving Nick mean looks. This is while he is corresponding with a girl back home to whom he's loosely engaged. He's been writing her weekly letters and signing them "Love, Nick."

At one point, Gatsby tells Nick that their mutual friend Jordan has "kindly offered to speak to" Nick about a matter concerning Gatsby. Nick's reactions are as follows: he's annoyed because he doesn't want to spend his date with Jordan talking about Gatsby, he assumes Gatsby's request via Jordan will be "something utterly fantastic," and for a moment Nick wishes he'd never even met Gatsby if this is how things will go. Up to this point, Gatsby has been nothing but gracious and friendly to Nick, and yet Nick reacts with annoyance, judgment, and pettiness—even if it is just in his head.

Of course, Nick is there for Gatsby at the end. Nick applies himself like a true friend and is justifiably upset at the way humanity treats Gatsby. At the end, Nick is one of the only good, true people.

If we believe him.

Nick might be a very fair narrator. He might be showing us his ideals and his flaws because he is honest. He wants to paint a realistic picture of everyone, himself included, even when that makes him look bad.

Or he might be an unreliable narrator. We don't really have any way to know. We have no one else's account of the characters or events. Maybe he tries to paint himself in a good light, but the truth shines through the cracks.

Maybe no one should be allowed to read The Great Gatsby five times.

For what it's worth, I lean toward Nick being a perfectly reliable narrator who doesn't even realize that he might be coming off like an ass at times. I mean, it took me five reads and fifteen years to see it myself.

~ Stephanie

unspecified loss

thinking your feelings versus feeling your feelings

I think I'm missing a whole center with the way I try to feel grief

it's in my mind. and it's like I think that if I can get myself to cry, I'm feeling the feeling instead of intellectualizing it. it's like I think that if I can think about sad things to the point where it makes me cry, I'm "feeling." But I think maybe that's just going straight from the head center to the body center.

aaron said that feeling your feelings is like imagining that you're sitting with the feeling on the couch together. you're not talking, you're not doing anything, you're just sitting with it, like a friend.

when I try to do that...it's like there's a forcefield around the concept. I get bounced back away from it.

is crying the best I can do? is that better than having grief ONLY in my head? is it less genuine if I TRY to make myself cry, in order to...heal? do the right thing? does it not count? is it disingenuous? is it gross? wrong?

it must be better than refusing to encounter sadness at all, right? like at least I'm not totally suppressing it?

I don't know how to sit with these feelings. I don't know if I want to or not. and I don't know what the point is. why would bringing myself down—or even letting myself fall—be...productive? healthy?

I'm probably viewing this wrong, because when I typed "productive" something snagged in my mind. not everything has to be "PRODUCTIVE."

(but doesn't it? isn't it? wouldn't grieving properly BE productive?)

my chest feels heavy and sad. is that the heart center or the body center again?

am I thinking, or am I writing? am I performing? I never know. ember and I have that in common too.

but I don't think ember would even be sad.

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.

Society and Cynicism

I've been thinking about this idea for a long time, like years. It's a little saltier than I usually care to be here, but I'm ready to get these thoughts "onto paper" and out of my brain.

I saw a video today about rest. A YouTuber had recently been bed-ridden for five days due to sickness, and the experience reminded her of the importance of rest—not just when you've finished something or had a period of high achievement, but as a part of regular life. You don't have to "earn" rest.

I think this resonates with a lot of people...but only on a surface level. We don't actually believe it. In fact, we hate people who operate like this. If someone we perceive as lazy or underachieving takes a Saturday to lie around, we roll our eyes and judge them. If someone says No to plans just because they want to do nothing instead, we react with puzzled, even offended, disapproval. All righty then.

If you have surgery or get injured, you are expected to push your limits. You're expected to require friends and family to exclaim, "Now, stop that! The doctor told you to take it easy!" If you actually did take it easy—refused to lift heavy things, stayed home from work, lay on the couch, stayed off the foot—then people would accuse you of milking the situation, or at the very least think that you were taking the doctor's orders a little too seriously. We demand that people push themselves just so we can tsk at them, while secretly being proud or taking it for granted that they will ignore rest.

There's a lot of talk in the world about believing you're beautiful and body positivity, but we only push this type of thinking for people who are ugly or overweight. If a pretty, thin girl conducts herself like she's beautiful, she's "conceited" or "vain." We push loving oneself, but mostly as a form of pity or condescension. We don't actually mean it in every case.

Now, maybe this is just me projecting. Maybe you are putting your beliefs where you mouth is and your social circles really do want people to rest and think they're beautiful. It's very possible that I'm just cynical. I have very little patience for perceived hypocrisy. I would much rather people say what they mean even if it comes across as heartless than have people champion things just because they think they should. I wish I could be sure of what people say.

But maybe society's "faking it" is the first step toward its being reality? Maybe if we fake-support resting and recovering and loving ourselves, eventually it'll become true, especially for future generations. In general, that's not a bad strategy.* Don't feel brave? Do it scared and fake it. Don't feel confident? Fix your posture and fake it. Don't feel like worshipping? Put your hands up and fake it. Best case scenario, things flow from the heart, but realistically? Sometimes we have to fake it and let the universe meet us halfway.

If that's what's happening with society's disingenuous support of rest etc. then maybe I can get on board. But in the meantime, I see through you, Society! You're not fooling me. I know you secretly love it when people work til they're burnt out and act insecure about their appearances.

I see you.

~Stephanie

* says the girl who just talked about hating hypocrisy. What can I say, I have an asterisk tattoo for a reason.