Friday, August 24, 2012

Happy Birthday to Me!

You know that feeling? The one where things had been so dark and painful, but somehow better than they were before, and just as you had come to terms with your death you're suddenly and gloriously reborn in the most unexpected place and the most unexpected way, and then you realize that your death was also your gestation and the universe was just waiting for you to cut the last ties to your old self and your old life to bear you into a new, wonderful life where things are clear and new and beautiful?


So, how are you?

Saturday, May 12, 2012


I've been weeding this morning. Weeding is kind of a dangerous activity for me. Besides the hazards of rose thorns and ant colonies pouring out from nowhere and big brown spiders with scary white bubbles on them (which today caused me to squeal in horror and ultimately abandon my mission to clear out the flowerbed by the mailbox), it gives me time to think. It's one of those activities that, because it keeps my hands busy, frees my mind to meditate and explore. Usually I end up psychoanalyzing myself, using lots of gardening metaphors, 'cause I'm narcissistic like that. Today wasn't much different, but rather than looking entirely within myself, my mind turned to an issue that regards other people, and how my opinions have evolved.

You may have heard that Barak Obama recently professed his support of gay marriage. It wouldn't surprise me if he really believes it's the right thing to do, but I tend to think it was more of a political move than anything else. Then again, I assume pretty much anything politicians say is a political move. Yeah, I'm a cynic, but really, they haven't given me any reason not to be suspicious of everything they say.

This was, of course, right as North Carolina passed an amendment to ban gay marriage (which was already illegal there). Both of these events caused a disturbance in my little Facebook world, where several people cheered Obama, cheered North Carolina, or just posted their own opinion on gay marriage. And, as I am extremely suggestible (thank goodness for DVR or I'd be making several fast food runs every time I watched TV), I feel like I need to make my stance on the matter clear.

I'm for gay marriage. I don't support it even though I think it's wrong, I don't support it because there's not really a good reason not to. I support it because I think it's right, because people need it. 

It has taken me a long time to be so sure about how I feel. I don't know a lot of gay people, and I myself am very straight. I've lived in Utah my entire life, and until very recently was a devoted member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. None of these circumstances really foster understanding, or even much consideration, of homosexuality.

Two things happened.

First, I had a child. My son was born during the big Proposition 8 brouhaha in California, which, mostly because of the LDS church, everyone in Utah seemed to be involved in or have an opinion on. This was the first time that I had really thought much about gays beyond "huh, weird." The whole idea of making it illegal for gays to marry made me very uncomfortable. I really struggled with it, because on the one hand, why shouldn't they be able to? What's it to me? And on the other hand, the leaders of the church I believed in were telling me homosexual marriage was wrong, and were requesting members in California to give specific monetary donations to help pass the amendment. Not to mention the fact that the idea of calling a union between two people of the same sex "marriage" felt a little strange to me. I wasn't sure where that left me. I wanted to support people's right to marry, but I couldn't really do that as a good mormon.

Then one night I was rocking my son to sleep, thinking about the whole thing. I thought, what if my son is gay? What then? As he peacefully slept on my shoulder, sighing that lovely little sleeping baby sigh, I knew exactly "what then." I wanted him to be happy, that's all. I loved that warm, tiny little person more than I knew what to do with, and I just wanted his life to be full of love and happiness and joy. It didn't matter who he loved as long as that person loved and cherished him the way I did. That was the moment it became clear to me that denying human beings--sons and daughters--the opportunity to have the kind of happiness that I had via my marriage, was inexcusable and wrong.

Second, I learned to stand up for myself. I had struggled with the misogyny and sexism in the church since I was a child. I had assumed it was just a cultural thing, an artifact of church leaders' upbringing and personal imperfections, but it was hard for me. I tried desperately to understand why a perfectly just and understanding God would allow this in His church. I knew that I was just as good as the boys, just as valuable, just as worthwhile, just as human. Yet it was constantly, strongly implied that I wasn't. The last straw for me was the endowment ceremony in the temple, where, among other things, women are made subject to their husbands in the same way that men are subject to God. I wrestled with that for years, first ignoring it, then rationalizing it, until all I could do was hurt from it. This was supposed to be the pinnacle of worship, the House of the Lord, and people were setting themselves as gods over other people. Over me. I left the temple in hysterical tears more than once. It took a long time for me to say enough was enough, that the God I had known and worshipped was not behind this, to stand up for myself and say I wasn't going to take the abuse anymore. 

Once I was finally able to see the injustice of what was happening to me, and to stand up for myself, it became infinitely easier to see the same thing happening to others. I could finally stop saying "this doesn't feel right, I don't understand, I hope someday someone gets a revelation about it." I could just say "This is wrong." It does sadden me that it took an affront to my own well-being and peace of mind to realize the suffering of others. If I had been born into the same circumstances except with a Y chromosome instead of an X, I don't know that I ever would've seen it. I probably would've been uncomfortable and confused about the sexism and racism and homophobia in the church, but I don't know that I would've been able to really see and accept how wrong and hurtful it is. Or if I would have, it may have taken much longer.

These two things brought me to the conclusion that people are human beings. Shocking, I know. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but if homosexuals are anything like me, they're just people. Seriously. If they're like me, they don't want "love and support even though they are sinful." If they're like me, they don't want to be treated like children. If they're like me, they don't want to wait until they die then maybe they'll find the kind of happiness Joe Shmoe has because they'll finally be like Joe Shmoe or be how Joe Shmoe thinks they should be. If they're like me, they just want to have power over their own lives and a chance at happiness. 

I know to some degree how degrading and impossibly frustrating it is to have to ask to be recognized as a human being, then being denied that. I know what it's like to have your own family and friends feel hurt and betrayed because of who you are. I know that "I'm trying to put on a good face but your decisions pain me" look all too well. I have chosen not to be a part of that, and to do what little I can to make the world a friendlier, more tolerant, more compassionate place.

(And maybe someday I will write a blog post that's not all earnest/reflective/self-righteous.)

Wednesday, March 14, 2012


What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing.

Ugh, I had to do it. Moving on.

Apparently there is a "War on Women" going on. You've probably heard about it. Companies shouldn't have to provide birth control. Abortion should be illegal under any and all circumstances. Miscarriages should essentially be criminalized. Women who want to have sex without getting pregnant are prostitutes and sluts. Women shouldn't be paid the same amount as men for the same job. Women shouldn't be allowed in government. Women shouldn't even have the right to vote. Women shouldn't have any religious power or authority.

It's enough to get me upset and in a fightin' mood.

That's not all. There's also a "War on the Family," "War on Marriage," "War on Gays," the list goes on. Seems like there's pretty much a war on everyone except wealthy, white men. Wait, no, there's pretty much a war on them too. Just ask Mittens.

Labeling all of these things "war" certainly seems apt. After all, in war, you have a distinct enemy, who you dehumanize and destroy, which is exactly what a lot of people are doing in these various conflicts.

Here's the thing, though. There are two sides of a war, and, regardless of who started it, both sides end up doing the same thing. Everyone gets dragged down in the mud, everyone kills someone, and everyone is pleased with themselves for it.

So I declare that the war is over. People are getting trampled all over the place, and screaming about a war does nothing to help them. Call me a crazy wannabe Buddhist (I am guilty of being all three), but I really believe compassion is the cure for all of this. Compassion and empathy and love. Put yourself aside for just a moment to consider your fellow human beings on both sides of the debate. And then stand up for yourself and for others with grace and compassion, not with bitterness, not with hatred, not with violence.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


There are times when I wish I were an Artist.
A Free Spirit.
A Child.

Still filled with that exuberance of possibilities.
With energy.
With color.
With curiosity.
Able to surround myself with inspiration and beauty.
Able to explore the world with fresh perspective.

My walls are beige.
And bare.

My floors are tile.
And carpet.
And littered with crumbs.
And I really ought to clean them more often.

My books are getting dusty.
Sometimes I think my mind is too.
My spirit certainly is.

But then there are those days.
The days when those two little boys hold hands.
Push the emergency call button.
Then we run again.
And the world is beautiful.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

There's Also Some Pizza, Sometimes

Sometimes I wonder what things would be like, if things were different, if I had waited, if I hadn't waited, if I had gone.

Sometimes I wonder, what if you hadn't been there?
What if there were someone else?

After all.
With him there would have been more money.
With him there would have been more music.
With him there would have been more words.
With him there would have been more passion.
With him there would have been more art.
With him there would have been more travel.
With him there would have been more heartache.
With him there would have been more pain.

With you there is laughter.
With you there is love.
With you there is cuddling.
With you there is understanding.
With you there are children.
With you there is quiet.
With you there is security.
With you there is beauty.
With you there is joy.

With you I have everything.

Friday, December 2, 2011

On Babies, Part II

I kind of love babies. I think I've mentioned this before. Even more than babies, I love my babies. I love holding them, I love playing with them, I love seeing them learn new things, I love hearing the funny things they say, I love watching them play and hug and kiss each other. I remember when Aaron was born (after the trauma was over and the epidural had done its miraculous work), I thought, "Now I see why some people have 10 kids." I wanted more. I loved this little person so much, I wanted more and more of them. I wanted to fill my house with them.

...And now I'm sounding like the crazy cat lady, only with children...

Anyway, the point is, I understood why some people choose to have big families. You love each little soul so much, and each one is so unique and special, you just want to see the possibilities and fill yourself up with that much more love and joy.

Here's the thing. I still want more kids. I want more newborn snuggles, more 1-year-olds, more silly jabbers and words, more hugs, more kisses.

But I can't.

It's not a fertility thing. I'm pretty much a fertility goddess. I've never had any trouble conceiving, even when I've actively taken measures to prevent it. Every act of, ahem, you know, is followed by vigorous crossing of fingers that I didn't just get pregnant. I wish I could give it away to someone who needed it, because honestly, it's more of a curse right now than a blessing.

The problem is that damn post partum depression. Things are fine for the first five or six months, then bam!, it hits, and it hits hard. The first time I managed to muddle through and climb out of it after just a few months without medication or anything. This last time, though, was brutal. I'm debating with myself as I type how much I should write about the specifics. On the one hand, depression really shouldn't be stigmatized, and I shouldn't be ashamed of it. Right? On the other hand, admitting that I nearly destroyed myself and my marriage and my family isn't an easy thing to do. So suffice it to say, it wasn't pretty. It's been a year since it started and I'm only just now pulling myself out of it. I can't do that again. I can't put my family through that again. Ever.

So. I have those maternity clothes in my closet. Not many, just the ones I'd miss if I were ever pregnant again. The ones that I'll never wear again. I have my Molly doll in the basement, with all the little accessories and outfits that my mom made, that will never be passed down to my little girl. I have the baby clothes that I just can't give away that will sit in a closet. The little ballet slipper socks. My pink baby blanket. The Hello Kitty baby blankets that my mom put aside, just in case. The baby bath. The mobile. The crib bumper. The pack-n-play. The bouncy chair.

I knew that Sean would be my last. I savored the little kicks and rolls inside me when I was pregnant, because I knew I'd never feel a child growing inside of me again. And in all honesty, it will be nice when the kids are a little older, when they can do more for themselves. I'm not a "natural" mother, and staying home with the kids has been extremely difficult for me. I'm looking forward to doing something else, something I'm better at, something--dare I say--more fulfilling.

I just don't know when the longing and that little bit of emptiness will subside.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Sorry, Tomorrow Me

I should be sleeping right now. I'm exhausted. But I feel too...I don't know. Full?

I get this feeling sometimes. I guess it's my "spirituality" or something. It's the feeling that everything is important, so much is good, so much could be good. And everything gets jumbled up inside me, quiet, meditative. No one thought stands out; instead, everything melts together and I find myself concentrating on everything and nothing.

I'll probably look at this tomorrow and think, "What in the world was I talking about?" It won't make sense to me tomorrow. But Today Me is rarely concerned with Tomorrow Me. If I were, I'd have gone to bed an hour ago. And I probably wouldn't have eaten those cookies.

I miss people. I miss friends I was close to. I miss friends I wasn't as close to almost as much. There's an aching in my heart for them; I love them deeply, I think about them, but for whatever reason they never knew it and never will. It's probably better that way. I guess. I don't know; that's just what you say, right? Probably better that way, because I can't stand the thought that it's worse that way, because I can't change it without changing too many other things.

I miss church. Not "the Church," but church. I miss getting dressed up with somewhere to go with my little family once a week. I miss seeing my boys in their cute sunday outfits. I miss being fed, however rare of an occurrence that was. I miss seeing people, neighbors, the little old ladies who for some reason were crazy about me. I miss believing in something and having "solid" evidence (talks and scriptures and stuff) for why I believed it. I believe a lot of things, wonderful things, but I have to be my own prophet now, and honestly, it's a little scary. And lonely.

On the other hand, there are things happening. Amazing people are finding their way into my life. Amazing things are entering my mind and my heart. It's lonely out here sometimes, but it's not a cold, loveless place. There are so many ideas, old and new, sublime and ridiculous, that are reaching their arms around me. Ideas might not be the right word. Doctrines, thoughts, theories, concepts? Mercies, maybe. Regardless, I'm being filled with love and compassion from places I never thought to look. And those two things, love and compassion, are the most important, miraculously simple things in the world. They're all that really matter.

I need to go to bed now, to sleep and let the drudgeries of life build back up in my heart so that I won't impulsively blog nonsense, at least for a little while.