I Found My Light Switch

It has taken me too long to select the New Post option and I am not entirely sure why. After all, I will soon be celebrating three whole months of glorious Morning Pages, my good old ritual that hit full stop as soon as Lulu was born. Clearly, my writing muscle has been practiced, even though my muse tends to be the two-year-old on my lap who devours unreasonable amounts of berries while filling up my pages with her own writing style. Maybe it's the difference between writing to myself (more accurately my diary, "who" has a very distinct persona that took life in GUTS) and writing publicly? Or maybe I have just been too preoccupied with being preoccupied with the fact that I haven't been producing blogs? Bottom line is that celebrating my birthday a few days ago sent me back to last year's birthday post, which resulted in whetting my public writing appetite. 

Liat Bulb

Reading the post made it easy to reflect on my last birthday and I was pleased to count the ways I have grown since. But to my surprise, I was also pleased to realize how I am still challenged, a year later. See, I have unearthed the old me in the last few weeks, and for the first time since Lulu was born, I feel truly open to releasing knots, letting go and rediscovering myself. Any goal appears more accessible these days. 

You don't have to believe me. You probably shouldn't. Reading old blogs will prove why. Not too proud to admit, but I have befriended that "I'm back" phase before, in fact right here...Remember the March 2014 post Setting Up a New Stage- My Old Me is Reborn?? I was so elated to come up with my In Your Face Mama which I was about to turn into a video series. Series my ass. Ideas kept vanishing before I even wrote them down, let alone materialized them and then they stopped coming all together. Then the next cycle surfaced, giddy and all, and this time I may have or may have not written ideas down. On occasion, I actually started something, but then my creativity entered another hibernation phase (in my defense, we did have an abusive winter.) Where did my famous integrity go? (Motherhood undermines your "anything-else" integrity . Discuss.) It was replaced by shameless, baseless declarations of crippled wishful thinking combined with digging even deeper into the swamp of my safe, familiar all-inclusive mothering.

But just like the warm sun we woke up to one day this spring, assuring us that awful winter is done with, my integrity is shining again. I promise!

Warm spring sun

 I really am back, as much back as I can imagine a new mama being back.

You see, I reached a major breakthrough about two months ago: I went to visit my Abba for the first time on the last day of our Israel trip. Even though I blogged last year about stepping ahead in my grieving process, while acknowledging two years to losing him, it was a mere delusion, one of many I have maintained so craftily in the last two and a half years. I had been carrying the heaviest load for so long and denial was no longer serving me (believe me it served me in new motherhood.) 
Of course I had to be forced. My mom told me I would not leave Israel before I went to the cemetery, a word I couldn't even think of, not to mention say out loud. I am so thankful for her ultimatum because after the breakdown and the uncontrolled tears at the cemetery, I reached a calm place that surprised me tremendously.

I found myself asking my mom to leave me alone with him. For the first time since he left us I talked to him. I talked a lot. First with a trembling voice, then with much clearer words. I leaned on the cold stone and it comforted me, almost as if I was hugging him. I couldn't stop talking and I didn't want to leave. I finally opened my heart to acceptance of this cruel reality, and even though it hurts so much, it's accompanied by a new sense of peace and strength I hadn't been able to feel while the pain was eating me inside. And ever since that day my smiles seem fuller, my laughs are back to being annoyingly loud and my insomnia has practically disappeared. 

Fuller smiles. Birthday '15

I enjoy things more wholeheartedly. It is the equivalent of recovering from depression. It probably IS recovering from depression. I have been depressed and did not want to know it. 

Two weeks before he passed away, my Abba asked me at his hospital bed to continue to live fully and happily. I was upset that he dared to utter these words, as I expected him to make a full recovery and live to enjoy the granddaughter who was growing inside me at the time. I expected him to share with me many years of happiness, hugs, kisses and our secret language. I did not prepare myself for what happened ten days after we landed in New York. When we received the news I refused to mentally "go there" and for hours I repeated the word NO. The word NO became my go-to for many months whenever I started sinking into the pain of missing my Abba. NO, it didn't really happen. NO, I'm not saying goodbye. NO!

The powerful release at the cemetery enabled me to come to terms with life without his physical presence. It opened me up to connecting with and even deriving strength from his non-physical presence in our lives, including our Lulu who now has access to her remarkable Sabba. No longer hiding photos, I was looking at him recently with her, finding myself teaching her his name (Sabba Itzik) and tearfully sharing funny stories. A victorious moment. 

No more hiding photos

Acceptance set me free. Life has become easier to manage, lighter if you will, and my optimistic disposition has finally resurfaced. I can now redirect the enormous energy it took me to hold on to denial. I can now experience uninhibited pleasure outside the safe cocoon of my motherhood and relationship with Goog. I am one step closer to what my Abba wanted me to do. 

Another completely different game changer is that at 25 months, Lulu has weaned from breastfeeding, but this post is now at risk of becoming impossibly lengthy. Let's leave that topic for another time. (There we go, I can undoubtedly return to blogging because whether I make sense or not, there is no lack of topics over here.) I'm trying to make a point here. My new-found liberated state of mind, heart and soul is making any goal more attainable. My original intention here was to see whether I have met any of the goals I set out for myself on my last birthday, but as someone who doesn't believe in resolutions I find myself smiling while revisiting the short list, knowing I have met one sweeping, momentous accomplishment that makes everything else at least appear more feasible.

Practicing momentum

If you read all the way here, I salute you. Thank you for sticking around while I turn the lights back on in my mental blogging space (and open the windows. Phew. Must air out this joint.) And you know how I said before that you shouldn't believe me? I have officially decided: Maybe this time you actually should. 

My Birthday: A Long Night's Journey Into Day

So I effortlessly survived Lulu’s first birthday. I believe that writing about it and analyzing why I was reluctant to reach that date made it simple, easy and actually joyous for me.

But I almost didn't survive my own birthday this past holiday weekend. Except that I did and I am so grateful that I did, especially since one wrong move could have turned it into quite a depressing occasion. Dramatic statements aside, I will cut to the chase: I didn’t sleep the night before my birthday. At all. Okay, maybe 20 minutes. Apart from my long labor and delivery, I had never been in an up-all-night situation that didn’t derive from partying and resulted in sleeping till the afternoon.

A blast from the past

Ah, parties, dancing. I miss that. Needless to say, those all-nighters were cheery and fun. Three nights ago it was the most vicious insomnia I’ve ever encountered (I guess I can’t escape the dramatic lingo today. Bear with me.), and I’ve had my share of vicious insomnia, especially since becoming a mom. But even the very worst insomnimama nights yielded some amount of sleep- two, two and a half hours….something! And even the worst baby-not-sleeping nights always allowed a courteous minimum. The night before my birthday pooped in my face.

I tried everything. Breathing, lavender drops on my pillow and all over my body (I think I finished the bottle), writing, visualization, even a foot massage from my poor Goog, who was woken up by my deep breathing and generously offered to save me from my sleepless abyss. Did my subconscious decide to attack me? I’m reluctant to admit that it did. I think I had suppressed how much I was dreading this particular birthday. One reason was similar to why I had been dreading Lulu’s first birthday. Accomplishments...A year has flown by and I haven’t taken more than one professional step. My career passions have been replaced by my passions as a new mother, but I’m noticing a shift these days. Even though it’s so hard to leave my Lulu for more than a couple of hours, I can see myself going back to performing within a modified schedule. I’m starting to feel it. It’s been a slow process and my upcoming birthday wasn’t helping. I would be a year older with nothing to show for it other than motherhood. I know, I know, I’m so hard on myself, but I have to be honest here. It’s such a challenge to be constantly mindful of what I really want versus what I should want. I would like to believe that I have successfully maintained my integrity and followed my heart instead of forced myself to do what I wasn’t ready to do. The problem is that even though I’m now feeling ready to make a small shift, it’s so damn difficult to reinvent my career while being deeply invested in my mothering style, which I’m definitely proud of.

You think I’m vain? Wait for the next reason I suspect was keeping me up. I miss my parties! I miss my fun birthday parties. Am I done being a party girl?! I used to have an elaborate celebration every year. Every year! A good friend told me that once you become a parent there’s no longer room for your own birthday party. I refuse to accept that. But there’s no birthday party this year, and I miss ANY adult-type party. And dancing. Dancing. I can’t stress it enough. Going out dancing. Being carefree.

My subconscious was attacking me because of one more thing, hardest for me to admit: My avoidance of thoroughly dealing with my dad’s passing when Lulu was growing inside me. I miss him so much. It was going to be my second birthday without him, without his irreplaceable blessings and love, without our tight bond, without the language that only he and I shared. So much pent up.

As dawn was approaching, I was busy obsessing over how I had completely ruined my birthday because I would be a functionless, moody, ugly, puffy-eyed, puffy-faced zombie. The last drops of nighttime completely evaporated as I was stressing over the worst case scenario, but morning arrived and so did the salvation of my devoted family spreading endless love, a dreamy nursing session and my morning coffee served just the way I like it. Not that the coffee woke me up at all, but after such a dark and scary night, my familiar morning routines became sturdy anchors of comfort.

Morning Salvation for puffy mama

I tried to speak but it was impossible for full words to come out. What a freaky sensation. They tried really hard, yet only half words got out and no one understood what I was trying to say. I surrendered and stopped talking altogether.

I knew the plans for the day would need to be adjusted, but all I really wanted on that early morning moment was to lay flat and not move all day. I thank God, inertia and the very costly last minute cancellation fee for forcing me out of the apartment. Holding hands with my dear mother, we headed to the glorious Great Jones Spa for a birthday treat. I’m sure that somewhere in my deliriously foggy brain, I knew it was the best option. 

As soon as we walked in, I found myself telling the receptionist the story of my life. From my half words earlier, I moved into nonsense talk. I really didn’t make any sense, which makes me so grateful that she ushered us right away into the locker room. The original plan was a quality spa morning with my mom, a facial and a massage. We ended up spending all morning and much of the afternoon in the most soothing and rejuvenating setting, resting, bonding, relaxing, eating delicious organic food and drinking lemon water between Jacuzzi dips.

Post-facial face drinking
 carrot-beet-kale elixir

To my surprise, I didn’t fall asleep during the facial and massage and I still struggled with taking deep breaths, but there was no magic pill for the stress I had been keeping inside. Luckily, there was progression in the breathing department though and by the time we set up shop at the Water Lounge, I was ready to take my deepest breaths of the day thus far. The Jacuzzi was my peak. I closed my eyes and felt effortlessly relaxed. Wow.

A note about FACIALS. I don’t believe in resolutions for many reasons but I hereby declare that I am making an exception when it comes to FACIALS. Who knew what they could do?! ("Most women," you’ll say, but I’m a strange creature.) I couldn't believe it! I should be doing this regularly! I think the rule is every season? I deserve it! Why didn’t I know that? Where have I been?! I have no idea what that lady did, but when I came out of that room I didn't look like someone who hadn’t slept all night. My skin was glowing, vital, smiling with satisfaction. It's not used to being treated with such respect, but I’m putting a stop to it. My birthday present for myself is the decision to get facials. Since I’m a woman of my word, there’s no way back.

  

Deep breathing

As we headed home it was pretty clear that my romantic birthday dinner with Goog wasn't going to happen, as I hardly managed to drag my feet home. We still wanted to have some form of a birthday dinner so Goog had the brilliant idea to go to the new pizzeria across the street. We had the place to ourselves at 5 PM and it was perfect. Far from what was planned but warm, cozy, full of love and simplicity that only a pizza dinner can provide. And it included my mom and Lulu, which was the real treat.

Pizza party!

I can wholeheartedly say that I had the best birthday I could have imagined under the circumstances. Even aside from the circumstances it was an incredibly precious day, and just like the enlightening facial, I know I deserved it. I also deserved the uninterrupted NINE hours of sleep that followed my 8:30 pm bedtime that night.

My Birthday Lessons/Presents for Myself:

1. Get a facial every season (Who am I kidding? Let’s make the goal once a year.)

2.  Say “I deserve it” more often and act accordingly. It would be too ambitious ask myself to always mean it so I will settle for saying it.

3. Embrace change/change in plans and make the best of it (no sleep, messy career perplexities, birthday plans, and the list is long…). Not that I don’t normally try to apply this idea, but my birthday was such an eye-opening reminder.

4. Enhance my gratitude practice.

5. Learn to let things out before they bite me in the ass by keeping me up all night. If my new motherhood taught me that there’s no room for that, it hasn't been a helpful lesson because it clearly doesn't serve me. More importantly, it is opposite of the example I wish to set for Lulu.

Owning it: Happy Birthday to me!