9/30/2017 0 Comments Wondering about Wonder WomanWarning: Wonder Woman Spoilers!!
I finally saw Wonder Woman this past week. (Yes, yes, it is sad that I wasn’t able to see it till now.) I thought it was “wonder”ful! I was totally impressed by the intention and thoughtfulness of the directing. Gal blew me away. I thought she was perfect as Wonder Woman and her acting was so spot on and solid. The trailers had been so serious and intense, that I was a little put off by how many “jokey” moments there were, but then I remembered that this IS a DC/Superhero movie AND this is a parable. All films are representational of life and thought, and especially this one. I realized after watching, that I had attached myself/womankind to Wonder Woman and as I watched her learn and fight and love, my/our learning and fighting and loving was represented. I can imagine that a lot of women did this same exercise. I realized this because after the film, I was very emotionally defensive. I felt strong and fierce. But I also felt tense and not open to connection. My husband and I were cuddled on the couch and he was trying to snuggle me and I just couldn’t join in. As I was trying to practice some non-judgemental observing, I wondered if it was because I had just sat for 3 hours having to fight her/my/our way to follow her/my/our heart and do what she/I/we wanted. And I was still in that “space.” Of course, this is part of our story as humans, and sometimes especially as women, so I think it needs to be represented. But for me, it is an incomplete story. I think it is totally legit that WW doesn’t trust Steve as he’s asking for her help near the end. Even as her pal/lover, he is constantly holding her back and never asks: “What do YOU want to do? How can I support you and your ideas? (Because I can tell you have got some skills… and everything I think is impossible, is possible when you do it...)” WW ends up alone and sad, continuing to fight on her own to save mankind. Again, speaking to the parable, this is often a part of “our” human story--feeling alone and independent and (sometimes) Bad-A. But if I was going to re-show this to myself and show this to my children (my daughters AND sons), I would want the rest of the story of the truth about the potential of human existence and connection to be told. I would (humbly) add scenes looking something like this:
But THE POINT IS: Interdependence. Connection. Support. Vulnerability. Can we ever reach THAT place in parables/discussion about equality? Especially the narrative about women and men? I feel like I hear race discussions/parables reach that place more often, but not the ones about men and women. (And maybe that’s just my context.) Anyway, I just feel the lack of that. The truth that we need each other in healthy ways--and HOW TO need each other in HEALTHY ways--seems to me to be missing from many conversations. Regardless of what the relationship is, this is a truth that when missing, deprives us of experiencing a much fuller, more meaningful, and more empowering life. If we’re going to tell the story, can we tell that part of the story too?
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9/1/2017 4 Comments Reclaiming our BirthOur twin babes (the "Rainbow Babies") were born at 29 weeks, 4 days gestation. This is quite early.
Nutshell of the pregnancy: Move to south Georgia when 12 weeks pregnant. Find out that the medical system here is a bit behind the times and might be difficult to deal with. Finally find an OBGYN who will take me and get me in to see the specialist ASAP. We determine that I do have a weak cervix and putting a cerclage in is worth the risk. After the surgery, I'm on mostly-bedrest. I start to have contractions that are too intense too early. Strict bedrest. I spend the night in the hospital a few times, where I am put on magnesium (really hard) and given a medication to take at home that is supposed to help calm my uterus down. Grateful to have something to try, but rough because the medication has a depressing effect on me. Nutshell of the birth: The calming down doesn't really happen. I go into the hospital again one evening because I'm pretty sure my water has been leaking all day. Loooonnng story short, the doctor doesn't think it's the real deal and doesn't come in to check me till the next morning. We have to do an emergency c-section. Exerting the only control I could, I asked/demanded that I say a prayer before they begin. They prayed with me, Hallelujah! As they start the incision, I feel it, and we realize the spinal isn't working. In what seems like a blink, they put me all the way under and force Paul out into the hallway. Neither of us are there to witness and welcome our sweet babies into the world. The babies are taken to the (very) limited NICU in the hospital, and Paul can get glimpses of them. I see them for the first time 7 hours later as they wheel them past my bed on the way to the transport trucks to be taken to a better NICU. One of the nurses "broke the rules" and let me hold our baby boy for a moment. Blessedly, we are able to follow the babies the next afternoon and stay in the Ronald McDonald House for a couple months, visiting our brave little miracles as the Tallahassee NICU takes amazing care of them. Needless to say, it was traumatic. Gratefully, both babies eventually made it home and we started stumbling through full-time parenthood. Post-partum depression had already made it's appearance in my life when we were at the RMH and only our baby boy was out of the NICU. I could feel myself slipping into darkness and realized we needed to go home. I couldn't take care of myself in the way that I needed to at RMH, so that I could be a good momma for baby boy. I cried leaving our baby girl, but undeniably felt my angels with her, promising to take care of her. At home I was able to walk around topless, eat in my bedroom, pump wherever I wanted, and be in my own sacred space. This, along with walks outside, kept me above the darkness. Paul took such good care of us all, and we felt so grateful that we were all together. But there was still this deep, deep sadness that I couldn't shake. I knew it had to do with how the birth went down. I had studied and read so much about how wonderful birth could be. I was mourning the loss of what could have been. I also felt like I was just babysitting these really cute babies--I didn't feel like they were mine because I had been "absent" from or had not had most of the experiences that tell your mind/body/spirit that you have had children and that they are yours. I prayed so much to understand what was going on and to accept Christ's atonement to help me figure out what to do. I couldn't change the past. And I couldn't just sweep it under the rug and pretend I was okay. The scripture from Helaman 3:35 had been on a sticky note in our bathroom for a while: Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility, and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation, yea, even to the purifying and the sanctification of their hearts, which sanctification cometh because of their yielding their hearts unto God. What I needed was consolation. I decided we needed to 1) pray really hard, and 2) "re-do" the birth. As I researched online, I found some great resources from other women who had needed to do the same thing. They called these experiences, "Reclaiming Birth Ceremonies". I avoided actually doing it for a while. It seemed a little kooky and I doubted if it would really help. But I'd had enough experiences with healing rituals, that I knew it could only help. Paul and I strengthened our own personal worship--reading the Book of Mormon together daily was the thing that was hard for us that we really worked to change. (Our trick: the person reading got a foot massage and we switched every other night. Worked like a charm.) I prayed hard as I planned our ceremony that God would accept our offering of trying and that He would bless us with miraculous healing. Then one evening, we did it. I set up the space so it felt peaceful and special. We did some things that we had wanted to do during labor--praying together, taking a warm shower, slow dancing, playing our special playlist, etc. We brought the babies in and set them on our laps and we closed our eyes and talked about the birth, talking through how we wished it would have gone. When the moment came for the babes to be born, we opened our eyes as we pulled them in front of us, as if seeing them for the first time, and welcomed them into the world. It was amazing how good and real that felt. The last part of the ceremony was Paul giving me a blessing, which I believe "seals" any healing. Then we played with the babies and took pictures. And I could feel it. The deep, deep sadness was gone. I felt that consolation, which made room for more joy. When I think back on the experience I still feel some emotions of sadness and a little anger. But I mostly feel gratitude, which was really hard for me to feel for a while, because the sadness took up so much room. So I stand as a witness. I witness that our Heavenly Parents love us and that Christ's healing and consoling power is real and available. Sometimes the Spirit may have us do things that aren't exactly comfortable to us so that we may receive that power, but if what you seek is joy and consolation, I promise that it is worth it. |
anna
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