The other day, I was talking to my hiking partner about dating — she’s been married nine years and never really did the dating-as-an-adult thing. She lives vicariously through my experience and frequently comments how glad she is to NOT HAVE TO DO THIS. Can’t say I blame her.

Anyway, we were talking about the process by which a couple normally falls in love. There’s the early, fluttery passion — when each can’t get the other out of their mind. That, in theory, lasts long enough to develop the bonds of friendship and compassion — the parts that actually sustain a relationship over the long haul. This all makes perfect sense to me, and I said as much. Then, I added that I couldn’t remember the last time I was in that fluttery phase with someone. Read the rest of this entry »

I (heart) my DVR. Because of it, I rarely watch any advertising. Last night, however, as the second back-to-back episode of House ended, I didn’t fast forward, and an ad caught my attention.

Scene: Family weekend outing. Everyone is smiling, laughing, and enjoying their time around town. It’s your basic no-one-is-that-happy-and-beautiful family that you’d expect from Madison Avenue. The kids glow. The mom is pretty and thin. The dad is clean-cut, fit, and attractive.

The Ford Freestyle (their ad, of course) pulls into a driveway, and the dad gets out of the car.

“Thanks for inviting me along, guys!”

“We’ll see you next Saturday, Dad!”

My head cocked to the side. Arrrroooo? (rewind, rewatch)

Well, what do you know, a divorced family. A divorced family with a healthy relationship, no less. Who knew? It was one of those rare moments when I found an ad impressive.

From today’s NYTimes: He Who Cast the First Stone Probably Didn’t

Retaliation is a normal human impulse…

After all, it is wrong to punch anyone except a puncher, and our language even has special words — like “retaliation” and “retribution” and “revenge” — whose common prefix is meant to remind us that a punch thrown second is legally and morally different than a punch thrown first.

But responding out of proportion is perceived (by an outside observer) to be wrong.

If the first principle of legitimate punching is that punches must be even-numbered, the second principle is that an even-numbered punch may be no more forceful than the odd-numbered punch that preceded it. Legitimate retribution is meant to restore balance, and thus an eye for an eye is fair, but an eye for an eyelash is not. When the European Union condemned Israel for bombing Lebanon in retaliation for the kidnapping of two Israeli soldiers, it did not question Israel’s right to respond, but rather, its “disproportionate use of force.” It is O.K. to hit back, just not too hard.

Problem is, escalation often *feels* like a response in-kind to the person responding.

The researcher began the game by exerting a fixed amount of pressure on the first volunteer’s finger. The first volunteer was then asked to exert precisely the same amount of pressure on the second volunteer’s finger. The second volunteer was then asked to exert the same amount of pressure on the first volunteer’s finger. And so on. The two volunteers took turns applying equal amounts of pressure to each other’s fingers while the researchers measured the actual amount of pressure they applied.

The results were striking. Although volunteers tried to respond to each other’s touches with equal force, they typically responded with about 40 percent more force than they had just experienced. Each time a volunteer was touched, he touched back harder, which led the other volunteer to touch back even harder. What began as a game of soft touches quickly became a game of moderate pokes and then hard prods, even though both volunteers were doing their level best to respond in kind.

Each volunteer was convinced that he was responding with equal force and that for some reason the other volunteer was escalating. Neither realized that the escalation was the natural byproduct of a neurological quirk that causes the pain we receive to seem more painful than the pain we produce, so we usually give more pain than we have received.

(emphasis added)

Owwww, quit it.

As if I needed justification? Conveniently, I already had a mom-date on the books for tonight with a group of local gals whom I really like — smart, funny, and educated! If I weren’t working, I’d see them more often…but damn it all…

One gal sent this article with the email titled, “Proof that moms’ nights out are medically necessary:”

Read the rest of this entry »

Rough paraphrase of something I told my counselor last week:

Growing up, I never had a concept of myself as an adult.

Seriously, I think my first major depression (at age 26) was largely brought on by a lack of vision for myself and my future. I’d grown up expecting to go to school, get good grades, climb “the ladder” (whichever ladder happened to sit in front of me), get married (right after college, of course), and then…live happily ever after. Or something. Since that didn’t happen, I woke up one day wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next!

Via PZ Myers, I found a thread on Rapture Ready’s bulletin boards that was downright disturbing.

Initial post:
Is it time to get excited? I can’t help the way I feel. For the first time in my Christian walk, I have no doubts that the day of the Lords appearing is upon us. I have never felt this way before, I have a joy that bubbles up every-time I think of him, for I know this is truly the time I have waited for so long. Am I alone in feeling guilty about the human suffering like my joy at his appearing some how fuels the evil I see everywhere. If it were not for the souls that hang in the balance and the horror that stalks man daily on this earth, my joy would be complete. For those of us who await his arrival know, somehow we just know it won’t be long now, the Bridegroom cometh rather man is ready are not.

Example of a following comment:
I too am soooo excited!! I get goose bumps, literally, when I watch what’s going on in the M.E.!! And Watcherboy, you were so right when saying it was quite a day yesterday, in the world news, and I add in local news here in the Boston area!! Tunnel ceiling collapsed on a car and killed a woman of faith, and we had the most terrifying storms I have ever seen here!! But, yes, Ohappyday, like in your screen name , it is most indeed a time to be happy and excited, right there with ya!!

Here’s a link to a cached copy of the thread, since even the folks at Rapture-Ready must have realized the following comments weren’t something to be left posted.

Back to me…because this blog *is* all about ME, you know.

If you’re still reading, you’ve probably already figured out where I’m heading with this. It took a little longer for the mini-lightbulb to illuminate over my head.

I now realize that part of why I never envisioned a future for my life is because I didn’t expect to have a future. I fully expected the world to end.

C’mon. If the world’s just going to end, anyway, why would I need to plan for my own future? Why would I need to save money, develop a career, teach children to become a stronger next generation, (add generally good ideas ad nauseum here)?

In my previous experiences on match.com, I was entertaining a fantasy of man-who-will-save-me and a happily-ever-after future. Trust me when I tell you that I’m now way past that (finally, at nearly 35). I no longer experience a sense of giddiness when I see someone interesting, but rather a mild thought of, “oh, that might work.” I kind of miss the giddy part, to tell the truth.

Isn’t the rapture-ready attitude nothing more than the mother of all knight in shining armor fantasies? If people are preparing for the end of the world , what motivation do they have to improve life right here, right now? Just as I became a better steward of my own life once I decided I might *never* get married, don’t you think humans would take better care of our world, our peace, our environment — if they’d stop waiting for the world to end?

This end-times mentality had an effect on my life outlook, even if it wasn’t conscious. I haven’t been “waiting” for the rapture for many years now, but I still realize (in retrospect) that the mentality I learned as a kid has had some pretty negative impacts on my life.

What I really wonder is how much of this *still* lingers in my subconscious. There are many ways in which my anger at church comes from all of the psychological trauma and erroneous thinking that church gave me. There are a few of you who read here who’ve been through similar ickiness, yet still stay in church (NN, I’m thinking of you!). How do you get past all the bullshit?

~~~~~

Kevin Phillips’ American Theocracy has been sitting on my nightstand for a few weeks now, yet I’ve still not finished it. I keep setting it aside in favor of other, somewhat brighter, books. It’s dry. It’s depressing. It’s probably more than a little alarmist and over-the-top, although reading the RR site makes me wonder about that part.

I’ve finally skipped past the part on oil and energy to push ahead into the portions on religion. I haven’t read enough of it yet to comment, but Echidne has a pretty details post about it today. It’s heavy stuff, and I didn’t labor through all of the theological quotes…just read enough to get a sense of the message. Interesting stuff.

Here’s a sample. You can read the rest here.

The most interesting and frightening aspect of this magical thinking is Rapturism, the belief that we are living in the end-times, that Jesus’s second coming is near. End-timers have always existed in Christianity, but only in the last few decades have they actually had the political power to cause the world to end, and only in the United States. Doesn’t that make shivers run up your spine? That you might live in the country which sort of likes the idea of an apocalypse, because then all the “good” Christians will be sucked up by the heavenly vacuum cleaner, while the rest of us sinners will be put through the heavenly torture mangle? Well, believe it or not, but there are many millions of Americans who are sighing happily right now while listening to the news reports from Lebanon. Every additional death takes them closer to the happy moment when Christ will open up his arms and these Christians will leap into his lap. Later in this post I will share with you some of that happiness of the True Believers Who Have Been Saved.

Yes, it makes me shudder too — because I’ve seen the effect this mentality has had on my own life. Can you imagine how things will play out if there’s political power in the hands of someone who thinks this way?

I remembered that Effexor does wonky things to my appetite. Last time I took Effexor, I dropped 7-1/2 pounds during the two weeks I was on a sample package (142 to 134.5). So, my starting to feel ambivalent about food (I want to physically eat — comfort — but the idea of food sounds icky) is not a surprise.

I had forgotten, however, that effexor makes me yawm. Don’t get me wrong; it does *not* make me tired. But I yawn. Constantly. I just keep needing more air.

This morning, I saw my physician assistant and got the ball rolling on the medical side of the what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-me puzzle. He walked into the room, glanced at the chart, looked at me, and commented, “you’ve picked up some weight, eh?” That’s all it took for the tears to start. I hate crying when I’m trying to communicate. Hate. It.

Anyway, he agreed that I’m sounding symptomatic of thyroid disorder, and that a blood panel was in order. He also gave me 4 weeks’ worth of Effexor samples — I expect to stay on the lowest dosage as much as possible (that’s where I was even before Maya), but to make it four weeks until the re-check, I’ll likely have to step up from 37.5mg to 75mg. We reviewed my previous thyroid results from December 2001, and I was in the normal range (low end, but not extreme) for TSH, low-normal for T4. With 4-1/2 years having passed and a baby in the interim, it’ll be interesting to see how it looks this time around.

As much as it would suck to take synthroid for the rest of my days, it would be a relief to have some explanation for why my weight keeps steadily climbing, even while I workout 4-5 days per week (at least) and do challenging, 3+ hour hikes. My diet isn’t perfect by any stretch — especially not this week, as I’ve willfully self-medicated — but it’s normally quite healthful. Doing “all the right things” to see no results has been exasperating. A nice bonus would be to stay awake at 3pm without the help of coffee.

Weight…granted, this is post-breakfast and coffee and fully dressed…but the doctor’s scale showed me a full ten (TEN!) pounds higher than the last time I weighed at home. TEN!

On an unrelated note, I think looking like a Barbie doll might be a prerequisite for the job of pharmaceutical rep. One gal arrived at the same time I did. She was about ten feet tall, skinny (I’m talking super-model skinny), and blonde. As we waited, another gal emerged with the same stats, just different clothing. Now I understand why I had no chance at the pharma jobs I applied for as a newbie business school grad. I’m short and brunette!

[Mary has well-behaved toddlers in public] by clear communication in advance, by making expectations understood, and by following through with firm, compassionate, consistency. The key to avoiding conflict and acrimony, and to creating a warm and nurturing environment, is good communication.

Mary P. (of It’s Not All Mary Poppins) is part of a new blogging community, Partners in Parenting. Even if you’re not a parent — but definitely if you are — it’s worth a look.

Added:
The next couple paragraphs from the same posting guidelines are worth mentioning here:

We at Partners in Parenting, we aim to create just such a nurturing, safe environment where parents, regardless of their philosophical stripe, may meet, discuss, brainstorm, learn, encourage, and support each other. This means that we have to all agree to play nice.

As I say to the tots all the time, “You may be angry, but you may not scream.” Here at PiP, you may disagree, you may even challenge, but you may not be rude. A variety of approaches makes for a rich experience. We do not all have to have the same opinion, but we do have to respect the rights of others to a) have that differing opinion, and b) express it.

Good, GOD. Again, why can’t adults do that?

So, what do you think — is it okay to self-medicate if you’re doing it intentionally?

A little background: Before my initial “real” diagnosis with depression, and even a bit afterward (even until I began counseling), I had a propensity to drink a smidge more than is generally considered a good idea. This decreased significantly after I started taking anti-depressant medication (late 2001), and pretty well vanished after I dove into counseling (mid 2003). Drinking makes perfect sense in retrospect; depression would often present for me in the form of anxiety, and a drink (or five) took the edge off. Heck, I was even an affable drunk on most ocassions when I imbibed liberally. For various reasons, I needed a little “help” relaxing in social situations, and booze was just the ticket. As a nice irony, I was sober the night I conceived Maya. Buzzed, at the very most — but closer to sober.

Anyway, not wanting to go deep here. I’m just saying, I’m sipping on a Diet Dr. Pepper with a shot or so of Captain Morgan’s in it, and it’s…nice. (I’m normally a wine-and-dark-beer kind of girl, but the rum/DP combo has some familiar happy memories.) There’s also a pint of B&J “Dublin Mudslide” sitting in my freezer. Oh, and I’m cooking. While some people go right off food when they’re depressed, I use it as comfort.

Cooking was the whole point for this post. With my current shut-in sort of life, I am inclined to eat out often. It’s not that I’m a clutz in the kitchen; au contraire. After I moved to Colorado, I so missed the restaurant culture of Houston that I found myself frantically trying to recreate various dishes from my former favorite spots. These days, I eat out because I simply *need* to be around people. It doesn’t even matter that I’m not with them and talking to them — we ate at (Big Italian Chain) the other night, and I thoroughly enjoyed the raucous laughter from the foursome at the table one over. Maya enjoys it too, and flirts with anyone who’ll give her attention. She is her mama’s child.

But I miss cooking. Living alone, I just don’t feel inspired to cook and try out new ideas. I hope that when I return to a life beyond working at home that I’ll cherish my at-home time and actually enjoy indulging this domestic goddess side of myself. Perhaps I’ll even gain an audience someday.

Tonight’s Fare: Chicken and Vegetables with Coconut-Curry Peanut Sauce

The base for this sauce is a peanut sauce (for sate’) shamelessly lifted from Gourmet, circa 1992 (but I found it via Epicurious.com). To make it “mine,” I added the coconut milk and a generous helping of red curry. YUM. It’s close to, but not quite, a copy of the Mussamun sauce I so adored back at Patu in Houston’s Rice Village. If my grocery stores had the courtesy to carry actual red curry PASTE, it would be even better — but one had only green paste, and the other had no paste at all, only red curry powder. Ingrates. I opted for the powder.

As a matter of practice, add “ish” to any of my measurements that aren’t pre-set (ie, cans). I’m that kind of a chef.

- 1 cup creamy peanut butter
- 1 can (14oz) chicken stock
- 2 Tbsp minced ginger
- 2-1/2 Tbsp soy (I prefer tamari)
- 1/3 cup (plus a little; the limes were juicy) freshly squeezed lime juice
- 3 Tbsp brown sugar
- 1 can coconut milk
- 2 Tbsp red curry powder (if using paste, I think 1T would be perfect.)

Slowly warm first six ingredients until well blended, and warm to a bubble. Add coconut milk and curry, stir well, and simmer for long enough for all the flavors to meet, greet, and exchange business cards.

Stir fry whatever you happen to fancy. Blend a bit of sauce into the pan. Serve over rice, or not, whatever your preference.

Makes: Looking at my 2-1/2 quart sauce pan, it’s about 1/3 to 1/2 full. Yes, I’m an “ish” girl.

I just finished what was a difficult session with my counselor, but one that provided insight into some ideas I believed true (deep down, if not consciously), but hadn’t even considered.

One of the biggest presenting symptoms for me with this current dip into depression is frustration with my seeming inability to get. stuff. done. It’s not that I’m incapable. It’s not that I don’t know what to do. I just don’t do it. This can be something as simple as mailing invitations for a party or as complex as applying for professional positions and/or graduate school. Through a conversation where my counselor had to pretty much pull ideas from my head with pliers (I just wasn’t getting there on my own and was really tense/anxious.), two primary aspects of my current lie-based thinking emerged:

1. No one will ever take me seriously.
   This one has appended to it, “because I’m a girl.” The very fact that this one existed in my mind is pure embarassment. Yet, there it was. The culture I grew up in contributed more than a little to this — it was the Deep South, in a backwards, redneck, good-ol-boys type of small town. While I *intellectually* reject this notion, it was still lurking in the back of my mind. I’m hopeful that calling it by name will do me some good, because it’s a ridiculous idea.

2. If I am successful, I will be alone.
   This one’s a lot more straightforward, and yet it was the embedded lie that surprised me the most — and which explains the most about my tendency to torpedo anything great I have going in my life. In that backwater town I called home from age 8 to 18, it wasn’t a particularly cool thing to be a smart kid. Especially not a female smart kid. Or a female, goody-goody smart kid. I was all three, and emblematic of that was the “trophy” that I won each and every year I attended one particular private school — a trophy for earning the best grades. I usually would come home with trophies in individual subjects, as well. Being the class brain didn’t earn me a whole lot of popularity — but it did give me a deeply-rooted sense that if I wanted to fit in, ever, I needed to dumb myself down a lot. *Especially* as a female, I needed to not showboat, be the best, and “take away” some prize that “rightfully belonged” to a boy.

   It only follows from this twisted logic, that I *can’t* let myself succeed. I mean, really, the last thing I want is to be ALONE. (To clarify this, I’m not just talking about dating here — this isn’t about being married or not. It’s about enjoying acceptance, camraderie, and a connection in my social life, whether from male or female friends.)

Interesting stuff, that. I feel lighter after pulling this tangled mess out of my head, and I’m hopeful that over the coming days and weeks, my perspectives toward myself and my gender will shift from an superficial intellectual acceptance to a deeper level.

Oh, and maybe I’ll get shit done.

On Monday, something that’s blindingly obvious in retrospect ocurred to me: I’m teetering on the edge of a serious bout with depression, and I’m starting to lose my balance. Collapsing into a puddle of tears and heaving over something minor was a big wake-up call, and since then, I’ve felt a bit better because I actually am aware of what’s going on. But, I also feel worse because I’m aware of what’s going on, and yet it’s still there, dammit.

I’d already started to consider that my thyroid might have crashed — I’m eating well, exercising, whatever…yet nothing happens. When I’m not caffeinated, I can barely hold my head erect once 3pm hits. (I’ts 3:17. I’ve had coffee today.) Last week, when I met a friend for a hike, I had a reaction to heavy traffic that was much stronger than the situation warranted…to where I wanted to put a fist into the windshield, maybe not *quite* literally, but close. There was a sense of being outside of myself, watching the reaction, but unable to stop the physical dizziness that always used to accompany a mild anxiety attack.

What else?

Hmmm…reading a lot, not for the joy of reading, but more to fill my mind with something besides its usual contents…fixating on the new-and-shiny, whether it’s an annoying article or the next big purchase…falling behind on real work, yet just letting it happen…finding myself overly stressed about my bitchy dog’s usual grumblings. (She’s getting arthritic. I can’t say I blame her for being cranky.)

It ain’t pretty. Honestly, it was pretty damned frightening, once I admitted to myself what was happening. It’s been years since I’ve felt like this, and yet it came on so slowly, I didn’t even notice it. In my intellect, I know who I am and what I offer. I see the smart woman who can take on the world, raise an amazing child, and live life with vitality. Depression isn’t about intellect. It’s something irrational that all the “thinking yourself out of it” in the world won’t solve.

What’s different this time is that it’s not just me. There’s a surly (she’s teething today) toddler who counts on me to help her life make sense. Her presence is, I think, why it took so long for me to recognize the signs. I’ve coasted along, performing on a slightly subpar level, for months, but have always kept the proverbial house in order. I think that’s why Monday’s lightbulb moment was such a shock to me.

I’ve called my counselor, and we’ll talk soon.
I see my doctor (PA, actually) on Tuesday.
In early August, I’ll see an endocrinology specialist if I still believe that this might be hormonally induced. Considering my mother lost most of her thyroid function in her early 20s, it really wouldn’t be surprising.

I’m also seriously looking at work options outside the home. Working from home while simultaneously caring for a 21-month-old child is becoming difficult for me emotionally. While I can physically do it, my mental health can’t hack the isolation. My current problem is that even though I’ve found a job that interests me, I’ve worked myself into enough of a funk that I’m terrified to apply. Egads, what if I’m (gasp) rejected? The horrors!

For Maya, I don’t think she’s been adversely affected…yet…and I intend to keep it that way. One bright spot: while nearly everything else in my life can act as a trigger for either anxiety or tears, I don’t react like that to Maya. She invariably gives me a lift, even when she’s throwing herself on the floor into a tantrum because her mouth hurts and I won’t allow more TV.

Fear
Fear is the hallmark of this episode — the one thing that seems to tie all of the symptoms together. When I’m feeling more up to it (or trying to procrastinate getting something else accomplished), I have more to say on that subject. For now, I’m back to work. Or not.

~~~~~

What does it mean that I recognize ways I could have written this into some clever dialogue between me and a visiting shrew, but I just don’t have the energy to make that happen?

I just. don’t. feel. that. clever.

~~~~~

Because of all of this, blogging might be light. Then again, it might be especially heavy, intense and a TMI view into my deep, black soul. Who can tell?

Now that’s more like it — reply from a different contact.
Now *this* is how to tell someone why you decided to send them an email:

Thanks for the reply. I was really impressed by your profile. My masterpiece is someone such as yourself who has beauty as well as an intellectual side. Physical attraction is only part of the equation. I need mental attraction as well. Meaningful conversations about life, love, and interesting topics are what I want. That is why I wrote you. Your bio was more in depth than most and you are quite beautiful too. Also, I have a six year old son and I saw that you have a young daughter. That is important also to meet someone who understands the responsibilities of being a good parent. I would love to know more about you as well. You should know my match account expires at the end of today. You can respond to my personal account at (email address).

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he threw the word “beautiful” in there. I admit it, I like ego snacks. Another bonus for me is that he sees my daughter as a benefit, not something to put up with. Many times, I’ve received emails from people who “make an exception” to their “no kids” rule for me. Even though I want to believe their intentions are sincere, I find myself mama-lion-defensive of my girl — I never, ever want to be involved with anyone who sees her as something to merely tolerate. She’s worth celebrating, damn it. Yeah, I think I’ll reply to this one.

~~~~~

Coffee dates.
On the single parent note, I have decided that coffee dates are just not something worthwhile for me. In another time, I would have gladly (and spontaneously) hopped in the car and headed to a local barrista to meet up with a new prospect. It’s just not that simple now. Between being a full-time single mom and living about 10 miles north of town, I have to go through a lot of work in order to make space for what typically becomes a 5-minute size-me-up session. No thanks. If I’m arranging babysitting, I’m at least going to take *myself* out for a nice dinner. This isn’t about trolling for meals; I’d be just as happy going a hike or doing something that I otherwise would do. It’s about the use of my time.

Commenters, what do you think? Is this too narcissistic or self-absorbed for me to think this way? Who knows, maybe the guy I’m about to turn down (for said coffee date) just doesn’t interest me enough, and I’d find a way to meet someone who fascinated me.

~~~~~

Sex and Dating
Sarah, a frequent commenter over at Hugo’s place, has her new blog up and running. She recently wrote a letter to Focus on the Family’s Brio Magazine about sexual activity before marriage and posted both her letter and a reply from an employee at FotF that didn’t *quite* address her questions.

I’m honestly not too concerned about the premarital sex aspect from a religion standpoint. If you’ve read enough of these pages, you might get the idea that I’m not particularly conventional where religion is concerned. That said, from my past experience, I do agree that sex is something best left to a deep, monogamous, and possibly committed relationship. Sex-as-Sport is a fun idea, and I dabbled in it more than a little during my mid-to-late twenties. Again and again, though, I found that it left me feeling unfulfilled, lonely, and empty. In my attempts to “be a guy” (stereotypical guy, in a love-em-and-leave-em way), I began to lose bits of myself and refill the void with false confidence that needed constant refilling with sexual approval from outside. Oh, add to that, I hurt a few guys who were NOT typical guys in the process, but that’s a whole ‘nother post about how gender stereotypes hurt guys too.

Ironically, I’d gotten past this at the point when I conceived my daughter — but while I was no longer a predator and no longer treated sex lightly, my earlier experiences left me less prepared to indignantly yell NO when my boundaries were pushed.

Back to sex. As I start to seriously consider dating again, I’m now wondering what role physical contact will have for me. I say “will,” because frankly, at this point, I’ve been on the sexual equivalent of the top pantry shelf (hiding behind the extra bags of flour) for more than two years. It’s all kind of academic to me, and I’m starting to think that I’ve shut that side of myself down. What would it take to rekindle a nice blaze without burning down the entire forest? To get more corny with it, I’m in a drought, and I’d hate for someone’s haphazzardly thrown cigarette butt to start an out-of-control wildfire on now-protected land.

Okay, that was stretching it.

Anyway, this is something I’m considering, and I have no answers. Yet. But I do have an attractive, intelligent, creative man who wants to at least say hello. That’s a start, right?

The board where I initially posted this is very progressive (what an oasis in Colorado Springs!), so you might imagine I got some pushback about my first (short) post. In addition, I wasn’t clear enough in my first post that my black box comment was an *addition* to the commentary at Feministe, not the focal point of my concerns.

Here’s something posted by the first respondant — taken from womenshealth.gov:

For each woman, the decision to breastfeed or bottle-feed infant formula is a very personal decision based on many things, including personal or family experiences, whether or not you are going back to work, and whether your baby has special needs. After you weigh all the factors in your life that will affect your decision, remember that breastfeeding, for even a short amount of time, can benefit your baby, you, and your family. Although infant formula can provide babies with necessary nutrients, it can never duplicate the exact chemical makeup of human milk, especially human milk’s cells, hormones, and antibodies to fight disease.

However, there are women who have problems breastfeeding due to health conditions or other personal circumstances and need to feed their babies or supplement with infant formula. Infant formula is also the only safe way to provide nutrition to your baby after you have weaned, if your baby is under the age of one.

If you are going to use infant formula, you can ensure that you use a reputable brand that is approved by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). You can check the FDA web site for current information on infant formula in the United States, as well as any recalls due to health and safety problems.

Now that I re-read this (the actual government statement) and compare it to the message given by the ad campaign, it strikes me as similar to the recent kerfluffle about the Washington Post article about how women should act as if they’re “pre-pregnant” all the time. The actual CDC policy focuses heavily on enhancing women’s health (a Very Good Thing), but the WaPo article translated a positive policy into something to be used to control women’s decisions. In this case, it’s the government’s own ad campaign that’s changing the message, but the same idea applies…good policy, awful communication of said policy.

On to my next response:

(Board member), the quote you posted was wonderful — I agree with it entirely. Too bad the advertisements don’t follow the same spirit…

(Board member 2), I’d started writing a reply (and more thorough explanation of what bothers me about the article and campaign), but you’ve covered much of the ground for me — especially about the social message given that women belong solely in the home…or the bathroom…or wherever) I’ll pick up from there.

First, in defense of self. Lest anyone think otherwise, I’m very pro-breastfeeding. Breastmilk is, without a doubt, the best thing for a baby to eat, period. Women should be able to nurse wherever, whenever their babies are hungry, without shame and without a need to cover up. I personally tried to expose as little as possible, but that’s more about me, not anything I would ever want to impose on anyone else. Besides that, I’d nurse at my table while eating dinner on a Friday night in a crowded Colorado Springs chain restaurant! Keeping discrete about it helped *ME* to enjoy my dinner more. (a-hem…back to the subject) To sum up, breastfeeding=best. Okay?

To save anyone a trip back out to NYT or Feministe, I’ll sum up my concerns:

Framing the Argument
Rather than educating people that “breastfeeding=best” (beyond a short statement about a single benefit as an afterthought at the end of the advertisement), the campaign focuses on “formula=dangerous”. It’s a subtle difference, perhaps, but an important one. Instead of providing scads of information in an interesting way, they relied on alarmism and fear to control people about what *not* to do. Any behaviorist (or parent, or dog trainer, for that matter) can tell you that it’s a lot more effective to teach/train people what to do (positive action) rather than what not to do (inaction). In other words, a strong campaign would focus on advocacy of breastfeeding rather than demonization of people who bottlefeed (whether from “laziness” or giving up a struggle).

Treatment of the Target Audience
If the tone of the ads treated women like rational human beings, rather than as children who need to be told what to do, that would help. There’s an assumption that I see behind the ads of “We don’t need to bother to educate people. Let’s just scare the crap out of them and heap a pile of guilt on them.” It’s patronizing.

The Information (not) Delivered
From the NYT article: “Just like it’s risky to smoke during pregnancy, it’s risky not to breast-feed after”
Statements like this are irresponsible. Again, this isn’t because I think that infants don’t lose something if they get formula. They certainly do lose out, on a great deal. That said, the “risks” (better said, I believe as “lack of benefit”) faced are not something comparable with smoking while pregnant (or log rolling…or riding a mechanical bull). By making an extreme comparison, the campaign sets itself up for a fall. Formula is not as risky to a child as a high-trauma activity is to a pregnancy/fetus. I think that most women intuitively know this, and it makes the campaign frankly, easy to ignore as over-the-top. Why not just work with reality and promote the actual, proven benefits of breastfeeding? That might gain the campaign more credibility, and it wouldn’t risk looking like the “advertisement who cried wolf.”

Control and Choice
This is the biggest issue to me. Breastfeeding is best for a child, and if I have any more children, I’ll do whatever I can to (again) nurse for at least a year, ideally longer. But as strongly as I believe that nursing is the best choice for a child, I’m an even stronger believer in the importance of an individual’s right to make choices for herself. Do I think it’s sad that many don’t even consider nursing as an option? And immediately go to bottles without even *trying* to breastfeed? Of course, that’s sad. But that doesn’t mean that I will ever presume to tell someone else how to live their own life. Let me put it this way: given the choice between an unplanned pregnancy and abortion, I chose the unplanned pregnancy, which I believe was the best decision I’ve ever made — but it was MY decision for MY life. Even if I think a woman’s reasons for formula-feeding are bad ones, I will defend her right to do what she needs to do in her own life.

(This could easily open a new can of worms about whether or not formula truly is “dangerous.” As someone who wasn’t breastfed, I’d like to think that there isn’t something horribly defective about me because of it, but hey, maybe I’m dreaming.)

It’s good that there’s a campaign out there to advocate for breastfeeding. IMO, they’re going about it badly, and I’d like to see something that encourages nursing rather than bashing formula, and does so with accuracy. A campaign that focused on the strength and BEAUTY of nursing would have my vote in a heartbeat.

I joined this particular board shortly after Maya’s birth, but most of their activities were playdates at parks — not a great way to spend time if you have a newborn who doesn’t play like that yet! I came across another group (which I really love) who hosted a hike (now we’re talking!), and lagged participation in the first board. Recently, I “rediscovered” this site, and realized that I’ve missed out in a big way by not participating! It helps that I’m (finally) becoming more comfortable with the bulletin board (as opposed to email list) format — it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. I feel very lucky to have a group like this exist here. Believe it or not, I’m starting to find pockets of progressive thought — and even (gasp!) liberalism — throughout my conservagelical town.

This post and the next one were originally written as a post on a local bulletin board — but I think the topic is important enough to cross-post here.

I think it’s fairly safe to assume that most of the moms on this board are pro-breastfeeding. Yes, breastmilk is what nature has designed as the best possible food for infants. But, we also know that for many moms, breastfeeding doesn’t work out for a number of reasons. I have friends who’ve anguished over finally throwing in the towel and moving to formula…but in the long run, their babies did fine.

This, however, is disturbing to me. Via Feministe, I found a link to this NYT article about the Department of Health and Human Services’ new campaign about breastfeeding. (link requires free registration) Here’s a (well-written, IMO) analysis of the problems with the campaign and article.

Beyond what’s presented, I’m really disturbed by the concept of putting a “black box warning” on cans of formula. While formula isn’t the ideal, it’s often the only option for women who can’t nurse. It’s not unimaginable (to me, anyway) that some (undereducated or non-english-speaking) women might see the warning as a reason to not feed formula at all and resort to other options (such as cow’s milk or soy milk) which don’t contain the nutrients needed by an infant.

C’mon…do mothers really need *another* reason to fight with each other? Seriously, people.

I’ve jumped off the bandwagon after one week, four days of ingesting flavorless calories. Why, you might ask? (Or maybe you don’t.) If the SLD tricks were working to lower your appetite — and even change your cravings to more healthful food — why stop?

Mental health, baby.

As I posted before, taking oil had some severe effects on my mood — effects that reminded me of how I physically felt during full-blown depression. While the sugar water didn’t have an adverse effect at first, it started to after about the first week. Given the choice between glorious thinness (uh, yeah) and mental stability, I’ll choose stability every time. Add to that, I not only didn’t lose weight; I gained a pound or so, plus I feel “squishier” (technical term, that).

For all of those folks who find SLD to work, more power to ya. For me, it’s not turning out to be an option.

I need to get back to studying for this Saturday’s GRE. More later, perhaps. Then again, maybe not.

“I’m glad I didn’t have a girl. She wouldn’t get to leave the house until she’s 30!”

The Happy Feminist posted about this kind of comment, and she boils it down (mostly, anyway) to a father’s perception of a daughter as a sexual being — in this case, one that should be preserved and protected from *gasp* anything physical. (My words, not hers…read the full post for her perspective.)

The comments on this are fascinating, and I’m impressed with the caliber of folks having a discussion without getting nasty toward each other. Buried down in the comments, the conversation turns to date rape, and how gender roles/attitudes may give boys the wrong idea about pushing for sex. One commenter suggests being direct about it:

How about just talking with your sons about rape. “Son, real sex is when two people want to be physical with each other. If one of the people doesn’t *want* to, then it’s not real sex and it’s probably rape. If she consents, but she doesn’t *want* it, she’s just okay with letting it happen it to her, that’s not what sex is supposed to be about either. It’s supposed to be about mutual desire.”

(emphasis added)

You know, I’ve come to terms with what happened nearly 2-1/2 years ago…yet I haven’t. Long ago, my counselor explained to me (after a lengthy discussion) that while what I experienced wasn’t *technically* rape, it emotionally could take the same toll. I’ve struggled with wanting to believe that, but then often still feeling like it was All. My. Fault.

Without a doubt, I could have made better choices that night. Does that mean that the guy is vindicated? No, it doesn’t. I know this intellectually, but there’s still a big part of me that heaved a sigh of relief to see someone else write those words in bold above.

Just thinking…

Added:
Another comment paints a pretty clear picture of how grey this subject can be. This sounds so familiar to me…SO familiar.

A very personal comment on “pressuring”: I was dating a guy in college who came to visit me over the summer at my parents. He *really* wanted to have sex after having made the drive to visit. (My parents are very anti-premarital sex and were adamant that such things not happen in their house.) We were watching a movie after everyone else had gone to bed and he suggested sex. I said no because I wasn’t really interested, I was extremely aware of how opposed my parents were, and the room where we were watching TV isn’t exactly private. He persisted. I said no again. He’d leave the topic alone for fifteen minutes, then start rubbing and kissing my neck. I gave up trying to pull away and this went on. After TWO HOURS of this “please, I really want to,” “no, I’m not comfortable” rountine, I’d had enough and gave in because I was sick of fighting about it, it would last five minutes, and then I’d get left alone for the weekend.

Did I say yes? Yep. Did I really want to have sex? No. I wouldn’t call it criminal or sexual assault, but I’m typing this and still angry. Angry because I didn’t stand up for myself and angry at him for thinking this was an acceptable way to behave. That’s what’s wrong with pressuring. I don’t need a legalistic definition to tell you how wrong that night was.

And I guarantee you, there are thousands of women like me, who’ve said yes because they were sick of talking about why not.

(raising my hand) I didn’t even ever say yes…but I did finally stop saying no.

The comments thread continues in this vein — about whose responsibility it is to stop rape, and whether it’s okay or not for a guy (sometimes a girl, but usually a guy) to pressure a girl into sex. One commenter made the argument that it’s up to the female to say no, and that it’s inate for the male to push for sex. I mean really, heaven forbid that a guy should tame his base urges, right? BLECH.

The blog owner made an argument that there’s a difference between pressure and seduction. I especially appreciated this line:

Young men should be brought up not to think in terms of “what works” but to think in terms of sex as something that should be always be a totally consensual and mutually rewarding act.”

Amen, sister.

From Hugo:

…we must remember that to follow Jesus is to match our language and our lives.

His post happens to be about the deceptive tactics of some “crisis pregnancy centers,” but the idea applies across the board.

On topic, this is exactly why I chose to keep the pregnancy that resulted in my little girl. I’ve felt some of that same ambivalence about abortion, but have never quite put it so clearly as Hugo did with this post.

I’m not sure whether it’s more appropriate to laugh or cry…*this* is why my biggest goal with my daughter is to hand her as little baggage as possible.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad,
They may not meant to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern,
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man,
It deepens like a coastal shelf;
Get out as early as you can
And don’t have any kids yourself.

~ Phillip Larkin

From Trick-cycling For Beginners. (Thanks to Shrinkette for the link to this blog!)

From Dooce:

Sometimes Jon and I talk about what life was like before we had a baby, before the dog, before the ongoing chaos of those responsibilities. And I remember during those first months of Leta’s life when I had a hard time going ten minutes without giving in to a nervous breakdown how I sometimes cursed the fact that we had gone and ruined our lives. Last night when confronted with that hollow silence, the silence of the way things used to be, all I could think was, thank God we had a baby and ruined our lives.

Thank god I “ruined” my life, indeed. Nothing better has ever happened to me.

Amazon’s new “Plog” feature sometimes provides content of actual interest. Here’s a piece of something I noticed today:

A caveat to keep in mind, “overbearing” people generally come from a mindset of scarcity rather than abundance. This means that they will fight tooth and nail to get their way and fight to the death before they have to give up something. Even though you might not want a divorce, you might want to weigh what you are actually receiving from your marriage vs. the toll it is taking on you.

Too bad I didn’t read this years ago. This describes my last long-term relationship (wow…years ago now), to the letter, especially the part about a scarcity mindset.