Toothpaste

 I still feel like the kid who switched from fruity toothpaste to mint toothpaste because I was too old for fruity toothpaste.

Life Hack #1

 Make sure to slouch when you're sitting because fat rolls can leave lines to make it look like you have abs. #lifehack

Fake People, Toxic Culture, and The Doneness of it All

 I have been on a constant rage in my head since this morning. My husband and I recently moved to begin medical school, but because of Covid (oh Covid), we have been very limited in the choice of people we have met. 

About 2 years ago, my husband and I decided to leave [a certain state] because we were sick of the toxic culture of perfectionism (according to their standards...which were far from actual perfection), judging, fake-ness (so fake. Oh my gosh. Fake fake fake fake fake. SOooooooo fake), and many other things that cannot be summed into a few words. Sadly we ended up leaving some of the best friends we have, but for our own mental health we knew we had to leave. We moved to a good place, but found it difficult to make friends living in an apartment that can only comfortably fit 3 people at a time. Everyone else's excuse was "we have kids". Okay. Before Covid had even hit, I was a pro at holing up in my little apartment away from the world. Throw a new baby into the mix and boy, I had it made. Quarantine was a way of life for me.

It definitely wasn't the best time of our lives. We felt stuck. Andy was in a job he hated and I had no purpose other than to grow a human being inside of me. So you can imagine how excited we were to start school in a new place where we would be with people our age, in very similar situations as ourselves, and wanting to make friends. Almost instantly, we had invitations to people's houses and were inviting people into our home. Things were going great! We were making friends! Well, that's what we thought...

It didn't take very long before we started noticing how out of place we felt when we were with these people. The faces they made when I walked in to the girls' night, the unresponsiveness we received to anything we said, the annoyed looks when I happened to WALK THROUGH MY OWN KITCHEN IN MY OWN HOME TO GET PAJAMAS FOR MY BABY WHERE TWO GIRLS HAPPENED TO BE AT THE TIME. Don't even get me started. 

Andy and I had decided to go all out. We spent the entire day, from 5am-5pm, making food--good food, too. Authentic carne asada on the grill, beans and rice, dips, (authentic) salsa, corn...the list goes on! And yet we still felt unwelcomed (in our own home, nonetheless). Dare we make a comment in the group conversation and we would get uninterested nods and "okays". As soon as I went inside to put our baby to bed, they all got up and left. Andy came in and just said, "I don't get it." What was wrong with us? Were we weird? Why didn't they like us? Did we always say something wrong? They were making comments way more controversial than we ever did. Were we boring? We tried to make jokes and have fun. We just didn't get it.

I had spent weeks stressing about making a good impression and making friends with these other med school wives. Multiple nights found me waking up at 1am, my mind racing, thinking over everything I said and how it could be taken the wrong way, how stupid I must have sounded, how I had done everything wrong, for at least 2 hours. I knew why they didn't like me. I didn't like myself! I couldn't blame them! I'm such a horrible, unlikeable person. I just had to keep trying, and be different each time. Next time I'd be quieter. Next time I'd try to share some stories. Next time I'd try... I was falling apart. This was way worse than I had ever felt in that previously stated state we had escaped.

We finally figured it out. These people were from that culture. These people would keep coming over as long as we invited them, yet they would never accept us as their friends. They gave us a chance but we didn't pass their friend test. They were nice, but we would never fit into their mold of the "right person".

That's when I got mad.

Anyway, so Andy was in a study group with this group of guys. After this marvelous dinner, there was no word from them. They had been getting together every week, especially when a test was coming up. But Andy was never invited. It was pretty obvious he had been exiled from the group. That's fine, he didn't really want to hang around them anyway. Plus, studying with them never really helped him. But then. BUT THEN. They have to nerve to ask him, nay, TELL HIM to come teach them the things he had done in his lab that they hadn't. Umm... EXCUSE ME?! No. NO. NO! How dare they? How dare they think they can throw us off to the side, very obviously show their distaste for us, and still believe we're so pathetic and desperate that we would cling to any invitation to spend time with them. I was mad, disgusted, offended, frustrated, downright ticked.

In my heart of hearts I so wanted them to know we did not need them. We were happy. I had purposefully stopped attending any get-togethers because I was tired of feeling like crap. I was done with coming home feeling like I had done or said something wrong. That nobody had wanted me to come. That I had ruined the whole night for them simply by showing up. This morning I kept telling Andy that he shouldn't help these guys. He shouldn't waste his time on them. Being a better person, he simply said if he was still in the lab when they showed up, sure he might help them. But he wasn't going to stay and wait for them. He explained that he simply didn't care anymore. They meant nothing to him, and he didn't care whether or not they knew it. But I want them to know it. Boy do I want them to know it.

I'm a terrible person, and here it is laid out before the world (though no one but me will ever see this). My momma bear just came out of hibernation. Nobody puts my family down, and that includes myself. No one is allowed to make the people I love feel bad about who they are, when there isn't anything majorly wrong with them. We are trying to be better people. We try to be good, nice, caring people. We are willing and happy to be friends with anyone. It takes us a moment to understand when other people don't feel the same. 

I'm dissatisfied with this blurb, but I'll keep raging in my own head until it explodes if I don't unload it somewhere. These feelings are for the moment. Next week I'll get over it. I'll remember how nice these people always were and cut them the slack they deserve. But for right now, man, I'm just ticked.

Patience

Mid-August 2018 my husband and I decided to go off birth control. We felt we were ready to start adding children to our little family and were incredibly excited. We had timed it such that if we got pregnant right away, the baby wouldn't come until after I had completed my Bachelor's degree and therefore wouldn't have to juggle school and a baby at the same time. However, as most plans go, they didn't, well, go according to plan. After the first couple months, I wasn't worried. I figured my body needed to adjust after being on birth control for over a year, everything would be fine. I had some fears since I was a teenager after seeing my sister struggle with infertility for 5 years, but I wasn't going to start panicking yet.
During this time, I was asked to be a secretary for the women's society in my church (Relief Society). The leadership of this organization consists of a president, two counselors, and a secretary. Not too long into this calling of mine, and after a few failed attempts to get pregnant, all three women in the presidency announced that they were all pregnant in one of our meetings. Two of these women had gotten pregnant on their first try... As you can probably imagine, my "everything is fine, I'm not worried" attitude was dropped kicked out of the window of that third-floor apartment, and my stomach and heart dropped with it. 
The following months were torture, as every meeting we had they talked about their morning sickness, their excitement, and I could see their cute little bellies start to show. I was happy for them, they got what they wanted and they were all going to be such wonderful mothers, but that didn't shake the fact that my worst fears were starting to unfold: something was wrong with me. Why couldn't I get pregnant?
Not to mention the time a nurse came and spoke to us young married couples and said "there's no reason you shouldn't be able to get pregnant in the first month of trying. After four months, do not hesitate to see a doctor." Talk about reassuring.
To be honest, I became very bitter and downhearted in those final few months living in that area. I COULDN'T WAIT TO LEAVE. And I made it very obvious that I was counting down the days. Finally, heaven-blessed, we moved and I didn't have to be reminded over and over that 3 out of four women who had tried to get pregnant did...and I was the one that didn't, couldn't.
It still took us 4 months before we were blessed with the little "+" on our first pregnancy test after leaving, and I still had hard days. Days when I would have to leave church early because I couldn't stop the flow of tears. Days when I saw more and more pregnancy announcements from girls my age and, through my happiness for them, couldn't stifle the voice saying "something is wrong with you". 
It was hard being patient with God and myself. I constantly wondered why I wasn't worthy enough, what those girls had that I didn't that allowed them to become moms, why? why? why?...
I tried to use this as motivation to be better at doing the things I knew God wanted me to do: make my prayers more meaningful, make my scripture study more meaningful, make my church attendance more meaningful. But rather than motivating me, those thoughts dragged me down. It became harder to read my scriptures everyday, harder to focus in church. I had my ups and downs. I always felt ashamed when I didn't meet the standard that I held for myself and that little voice would come back saying "you're not good enough to be a mom. You can't even do the simple things God asks you to do? Why would you think you're worthy to raise an innocent child?" It was a cycle I was tired of running. I tried to get rid of those thoughts as much as I could. Tried to only feel joy for the wonderful women who were being blessed with babies. Tried to be less selfish.
With time, I began to learn to have patience, faith, and hope. It certainly wasn't perfect patience, faith, nor hope, but it was something. My husband would listen to my concerns and let me cry into him. I can't say we were necessarily comforted in those moments when we talked about it, but we were brought closer. We both had something we desperately wanted but were being denied, and it affected both of us. 
Finally, eight months after getting my IUD removed, I gave into my husband's desire to schedule an appointment with a fertility specialist. It was May and we had a trip to LA for a friend's wedding. I had finally decided that they very day after we got home I would find a specialist and book an appointment. But then the strangest thing happened. My period didn't come that week. My period has only come late one other time in my life and that was when I left the US to go to Italy for 18 months. I waited. And waited. And still it didn't come. I was afraid to get excited, I remained wary, vigilantly checking for cramps and spots of blood. Nothing. I didn't say anything to my husband until a couple days after returning home. I hesitantly told him I was supposed to have gotten my period a week previously and that this was not a normal occurrence. We were nervous, but went to the store to get a pregnancy test for the very first time. We waited until it was long enough after the first missed period that it would be sure to give an accurate response, so as not to give us false hope.
The "+" showed up almost instantly. My husband said the very thing I was thinking, "We did it!" We got Chick-fil-A to celebrate.
Another 7 months has gone by and I can feel my baby moving. I've heard her heartbeat and seen her in ultrasounds and can't wait to hold her in my arms. She has a name and our apartment is filled with baby things. 
It's funny how even after getting what we so desperately wanted, writing my feelings during my 8-month waiting period I still cry (although I am pregnant, so that's another factor). Those feelings were so vivid they come back almost as strongly as the days when I was experiencing them. 
Recently, one of the girls from that fateful Relief Society presidency wrote to me, saying she missed me. I don't know if I would have spiraled as far down as I did anyway, but I know that once I was faced with celebrating the pregnancies of 3 other girls every week, my patience and hope disintegrated and I had to work hard to get it back. It was like getting hit by a train, rather than a slow decline. Anyway, when she wrote to me, I felt that bitterness return. I didn't want to answer her. I haven't announced to the whole world I'm pregnant, only those who I've reached out to individually know, so I'm sure she's unaware. I wanted to keep it to myself, I didn't want her to be excited for me. For some strange reason I felt as though she didn't deserve it. Which is totally ridiculous!! I realized this morning how stupid I was being. I'm trying to blame her for being pregnant when I wanted it and therefore for making me so miserable. If that's not petty, I don't know what is. I had to remind myself that nothing is her fault. I shouldn't be harboring this anger toward her for something that she is completely innocent for. But I never would have been able to do that had she not reached out to me. I didn't realize I still held some silly resentment toward her until I had to face her again.
I recognize that 8 months is nothing, especially compared to so many other women who have been waiting for years, or who have been told there is no hope. I hope never to offend these women by sharing my minute struggle that, for them, would be a minute compared to what they are facing. A part of me feels guilty that I had ever felt the way I did while we waited, but I am also grateful. Although it is nothing to what others feel, I have learned empathy on a deeper level, having had a taste of that struggle. I admire those women who have been unable to conceive, yet they still attend friends' baby showers with smiles and love, they talk about watching movies like "What to Expect When You're Expecting" with mothers who are days away from their due date. My experience taught me that I am not as strong as these women. Their example teaches me how much more loving, supportive, patient, and kind I need to be to everyone around me.
Sorry to be so long-winded. But I hope that now I have it written down I'll be able to let it go and move forward from it, rather than dwelling on it and allowing it to hold me back.

Pregnant Dreams

I had a dream last night that I was back in high school, but just as I am now: married and pregnant. I was self-conscious about being pregnant in high school, so I was consoling myself by reminding myself that I was married first and certainly old enough to be pregnant...and in reality I'm probably too old to be in high school. And yet it still made perfect sense that I was in high school at my age. I don't get it.

How Time Can Change So Much

It has been almost 3 years since posting or even being on this blog. Since then, I have been married, received my Bachelor's degree, and have become an expectant mother. Of course learning that I'm going to be a mother of a beautiful child has prompted me to blog again in the hopes I can manage the incessant thoughts that plague me. Before writing, I decided to read through my past posts and I was dying! I was so pleasantly surprised at my own self and how entertaining I was! (At least to me... Not that anyone else reads this). I loved seeing the world through my teenaged eyes again. I whined about things I knew were complete nonsense. I didn't feel like I needed to change the world; I was content! And that made me laugh and feel so light-hearted again. I worry I've lost my sense of humor and ability to see the world as beautiful and funny. But maybe that's part of growing up. But I hope my children can bring that innocence and carelessness back into me to a degree that I can avoid wrinkles caused by the constant furrowing of my brow. I sound so old.

Writing the Present Instead of Reading the Past

Early October 2016:
It's always this time of the year where I face the same heartache: homesickness. This year is especially special, considering that I recently came out of a relationship (that lasted two weeks, mind you) and I have a cold. And then of course there's the stress of school and work to top it all off. But that's nothing new. I have ten minutes before my next class and I was pondering why I feel the way I do. I'm smelling the familiar smells that are so ingrained in my memory from my freshman year two years ago and with those smells and the same lukewarm breeze come similar feelings. Why do I feel this way still? I thought I had gotten past all that, it was so long ago! I'm changed! I'm not that person anymore!
Yet that person is a part of me, it's something I've grown from, so it's still there, with all her memories and immaturities. 
But in all this I did realize that there is certainly something I can do. It's so obvious, so from the books and so cliche'. But so hard to really live. It's time to stop rereading my past and start writing my present more. I need to create new memories and live new, fresh moments, not associated with anything. Everything is new: new classes, new people,new clothes, new books, new experiences. Time to live now. No more climbing back to the past to avoid the hurt. Just let the grief pass through you, as it is so insistent on doing. Grief doesn't simply pass your door step. Even the blood of a lamb can't stop the hurt. Just live. It will leave when it's ready. And when you're ready.