Sensitive

“It’s not a bad thing to be sensitive.”
She says as she steals a glance at the clock

I wonder if she’s ever stayed up all night clutching her gut,
birthing a fruit of terrible thought.

“It’s not a bad thing to be sensitive. It makes you more empathic.”
She’s talking faster now, trying to fit her conclusion in the two minutes we have left.

“You notice things other people don’t notice.”
Like that she’s trying to wrap up this appointment and move on.

“You can feel how other people are feeling and that’s a good thing.”
She emphasizes the words “good” and “thing” like that will make me believe it.

“But it also means you feel things more than most people and it can be hard not to get caught up in it.”
Bingo.

She shifts in her seat. I start to gather my purse. Together we rise.
I try to field questions about dates for our next appointment while I mentally sort out a way to ask her how I’ll make it until next week.

I want to tell her it’s not worth it. Reading people has no benefit for me.
I want more details about how it’s good. Will she help me start a superhero syndicate of empaths?
I want to know how to ignore the looks, the pursed lips, the sharp tones in a multitude of disapproving voices.
I want an end to nights of knees pulled to my racing chest, rocking back and forth to sooth the explosion brewing in my belly, breathing out the anxiety that just comes back.
I want her to tell me how to make it stop.

But she’s already turned towards the door. She’s giving me a farewell smile. She’s telling me it’s time to leave now, but she hasn’t said a word.

I know there’s more she’s saying.

It will come to me tonight when I lie down to worry.

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How a Frumpy Gal Feels About Going Gray

Last year, on my birthday, I was remarking to my husband​ that I didn’t have any gray hairs yet and I was wondering when it was going to happen.

He surveyed the top of my head and then replied, “uh, you mean like that one?”

I asked him to pull it out, but not because I wanted to do away with it, per se. Rather, I didn’t believe him and needed to see it for myself.

Here it is, folks. My first gray hair (from a year ago). It was so significant, I documented it with a photo.

Gray hair on orange napkin
Bet you didn’t expect this much attention, did you, barely visible gray hair.

 

With the hair came mixed emotions. Continue reading

Friendship: Quality over Quantity

Lunch at Peninsula

I’ve made a decision. I’m going to stop trying so hard to be your friend. I don’t know if it has to do with living in CA for five years now and having to make so many new friends, or having a kid, which has left me with less time for friends, or the years of therapy that have finally built up my resilience, but I’m ready to stop trying to be friends with everyone. Continue reading

Breastfeeding: It Gets Better

Way easier than nursing a newborn

My husband pointed out a blog post about breastfeeding on Ask Moxie in which she was asking readers to comment with their “it gets better” stories. A while back, I began writing a series of posts on my adventures in breastfeeding, but haven’t made much progress lately. The comment I made on Moxie’s blog summarizes it probably as concisely as I ever will. Devoid of details that I’ll hopefully add in future posts, here is my “it gets better” post about breastfeeding: Continue reading

The Key to Being a Happy Mom? Don’t Sugar-Coat It

A Gaggle of Babies

Last week my playgroup had a playdate with a discussion about juggling and self-care. I wasn’t able to attend because I was juggling an appointment with my therapist into my schedule so I could do some self-care. The plan was to read an article about balance before the playdate in order to fuel the discussion.

I wanted to participate in the talk despite being unable to attend so I wrote an email with some of my thoughts. Well, it ended up more like a blog post. I share it here with minimal edits: Continue reading