The truth about being truthful

I find the statement, ‘just be yourself’, an odd one. Is anyone really totally honest and completely themselves with others? Or am I the only one that keeps an awful lot to myself?

I’ve avoided posting for a while because I was starting to feel like some of my posts were contrived or fake. (Oh and I got a taste of what it will be like when I go back to work and been insanely busy.)

Honesty is hard. I assume so much judgement will accompany honesty. Maybe it won’t. Maybe I’m just overly self-conscious. But I have tough days, tough emotions, dumb self-questioning thoughts, and negativity along with my other days of positivity, joy, energy, and fun. Other people must experience this too right? Why then do I feel the need to hold up this facade that I’m totally okay all the time?

I’ve recently seen people’s reactions to a friend’s honesty. Everyone was shocked at the level of truth and a lot felt it shouldn’t have been revealed. But to be able to shake off the mask and just be honest; to lose the wonder of what others would think and to just be you. That must feel great.

So maybe I’m only half there. I have a lot of areas to work on to be happy and healthy. And I can honestly admit that. I think I’m still going to stick with only sharing the struggles to those who are closest to me rather than the entire internet. What I do enjoy sharing is what I’m doing to continue my journey on the path to being happy and healthy.

This week is a take charge week. I’m dropping the excuses and facing the plan to get back in shape head on.
Wish me luck.

My Breast Experience

Breastfeeding. The closest time a mom can get with her child. A special time everyone cherishes. Something that brings a mother and child closer.

Not for me. For me it almost ruined my relationship with my daughter.

From the beginning I struggled. I’d had a c-section and hemorrhaged. I’d spent two hours in recovery without her, so the nurses gave her a bottle. All of which they say could have contributed to some of my troubles.

I had difficulty with the latch. I started getting cracks. I tried reusable breast pads, they pulled off the cracks and some of the skin on my nipples. I tried to reduce feedings on one side to heal only to have the other side get worse. The pain was so bad I would get nauseous when I tried to feed. Then I got a yeast infection in one side. They describe the pain as passing glass through your nipple. I would say that’s an accurate description. It burned, and continued to burn after feeding. She would cry as I tried to feed her.

I started to become indifferent. I would checkout during feedings. It was a job. Something I simply endured. Slowly I started to resent it and with it, her. My mood plummeted. I was going through the motions of the day.

I hated breastfeeding but I hated the idea of quitting even more. My mom was a huge advocate for breastfeeding. Her advice on why formula feeding wouldn’t be the best alternative seemed more like judgement on my inability to stick it out. Every where I went people commented that she looked too small. Opinions on what I should be doing and how I should be handling it came all the time. The doctor pushed formula on me and suggested I wasn’t giving her enough milk.

The thought that I couldn’t do the one thing for my daughter that I should be able to do left me guilt ridden and depressed. I wouldn’t create that special bond. Anyone would be able to provide for her. I wouldn’t be needed. I wanted to give up.

I decided to try for just two more weeks. My doctor advised taking domperidone to increase my milk supply and I started using a double pump in between feeds.

Success! She was finally drinking. Her latch wasn’t perfect but it didn’t hurt. I was still treating the yeast infection. But my mood was slowly coming around. She no longer cried and continued to pull off. She started to gain weight. My resentment started to subside.

I still can’t feed from one side, even if I pump I only get 1/2 an ounce. I supplement with formula sometimes and don’t feel bad about it anymore. She continues to gain weight and no one says she looks too small anymore.

Pushing through was tough. It almost ruined my relationship with my daughter. It’s still not perfect and I envy the women that say they loved every minute of breastfeeding. Regardless, I’m glad I was able to see success. I think if I’d quit I would have felt robbed and resented my daughter for it. It wasn’t the best experience, but it was my breast experience.