I read a book a couple of years ago called Sex, Lies, and Handwriting. The author, Michelle Dresbold, has worked with the U.S. Secret Service and various law enforcement agencies doing handwriting profiles. The theory behind handwriting analysis is that the brain controls handwriting, not the hand. Therefore, it is a picture into how the brain works. Experts claim that it isn't possible to completely alter one's handwriting because the wiring of the brain has more control over how the letters are formed than the physical mechanics of writing. In one chapter of the book, Dresbold focuses on the implications of a person's signature. She walks the reader through profiles of famous people simply based off their signatures. She explains that such a simple, commonplace task of signing one's name provides a huge insight into that person's personality.
My signature is clearly written out; it's basically "printing" my name but in cursive. There are no scribbles, large loops, symbols, or illegible letters. It's not overly neat or straight, but the letters are obvious. According to Dresbold, this means that one of the most important things to me is to be understood. It means I don't mind taking the time to write out each letter because I value clarity and don't want to leave any room for misinterpretation. Her claim would be that I prefer to be blunt rather than delicate because I want my message to be clear. Her assessment would be that I value clear communication and hate being misunderstood.
I would have to agree with that assessment. In fact, I didn't realize how important it was for me to be understood until I read that profile. While I have not thought about that book for sometime, there are many instances in life in which I am reminded of how much I value those things. I often find myself prefacing statements with disclaimers or qualifiers because I don't want people to misunderstand any statement I make. For example, I think the way we approach pregnancy and childbirth in the US is often all wrong. I believe we over medicalize childbirth and I often try to raise questions to make people think critically about the situation. However, childbirth is an intensely personal matter and people often get defensive about the choices they made. Health care professionals get irritated because they feel like I may be questioning their intentions or judgement. This makes it very difficult for me to talk about such things because I absolutely hate being misunderstood. I never mean to back someone into a corner or to make them feel like they need to defend themselves or that I'm judging them. All I mean to do is ask, "Is there a better way? Are we getting it wrong? How can we improve?"
My need for being clear and to be clearly understood has made it difficult for me to write on the blog lately. If someone misunderstands me, especially in a way that causes them to be angry or upset, I tend to shut down. If someone correctly understands what I say and gets upset or angry, that doesn't bother me. But if someone misunderstands me and it causes an adverse reaction, I lose courage to speak. There are things that I will absolutely not write about on here because they are way too personal. However, much of what I do write still requires me to be somewhat vulnerable. As I dip my toes a little more into the cold waters of transparency, I tend to pull back and retreat. I spoke with a friend about possibly shutting down the blog and she reminded me that this was an important outlet for me. She encouraged me to engage in the process even if I may be misunderstood. She told me that we can never control how anyone will interpret what we say, but that we have to speak anyway.
With that said, this is my journey, a telling of my personal experiences. My intention is never to devalue another individual's experience. I often share lessons that I've learned - after the fact. The process of learning those lessons is rarely pretty nor is it able to fit into a neat little blog post at the time. It is important for me to look back on life experiences, especially the ones that weren't all sunshine and lolly pops, and find the positive or the lesson. This is my avenue for doing that. I love hearing other people's life lessons, so that I may glean wisdom from them. The process of writing out my own life lessons is therapeutic for me and I often come away with more knowledge than I had when I started writing about it. I simply share these experiences with you for my own external processing, and in hopes that maybe you can benefit in some way from what I've learned. Thank you for allowing me to work through some nitty-gritty areas like marriage, deployment, and faith. Writing a blog in itself has been a lesson on vulnerability and courage, and one that hasn't been easy for me.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Chinese torture
My brothers and I used to play this "game" called Chinese Torture. Basically, we'd be wrestling and then one would manage to subdue the other (usually the older sibling until my younger brother got bigger than me) and the dominant fighter would repeatedly poke the bottom one's head, yelling "Chinese torture! Chinese torture!" The pokes were mostly soft, unless the person poking was genuinely mad. Being poked repeatedly on the forehead really wasn't that bad at first and I'd just look at my brother like he was dumb and that it wasn't going to do anything to me. But after about two minutes, I'd get really irritated and start trying to swat his hand away. This rarely worked because he'd pin my arms down with his knees. Then I'd be calm again and pretend like it didn't bother me. However, just a few more minutes of the soft, but fast poking in the same exact spot on my head, and I would flip. I'd go into an all out rage screaming, bucking, attempting to head-butt, bite, or whatever I could to make it stop. I'd knee him in the kidneys and writhe until I could get free. Wrestling was almost always playful for us and I genuinely enjoyed it, but if "Chinese Torture" went on too long, I'd snap. Sometimes mom or dad would intervene at that point, but not always. Sometimes they'd let us fight it out; they wouldn't always come to the rescue. Because of this I learned to throw a punch, and how to take one too. I learned how to fight back, even when in pain. To those of you who are strongly against violence and may be judging my parents, know that my siblings and I have an extremely strong bond and even when angry we never let it go too far. We were extremely protective of each other and I remember multiple times when I was the dominant one in the fight and I'd call it off, and my brothers have done the same. This also taught us to know our own strength and when NOT to deploy it. When one is confident in their strength, they don't always have to prove it.
In many ways, I feel like I'm reaching that snapping point with deployment. The soft, but repeated loneliness and longing is sometimes easy to ignore. In the beginning, it's easy to look deployment in the face and say, "You're not going to break me." Then after a few months without reprieve, a temper tantrum rose in me and I wanted to swat deployment away. However, when R&R came, I felt a sense of calm and strengthening, but that was only temporary. I had to say goodbye AGAIN. I came home to an empty house AGAIN. I felt lost and heavy in my own home AGAIN. I got through the first week or so, but I feel it. Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke. POKE. POKE! It rings louder and louder in my head. I'm in that place where I feel the rage building up inside me. I want to kick, fight, and scream. I don't want to take it anymore. I don't want to do it any longer. I want to be done. I feel myself starting to whimper, "Make it stop." However, I've learned how to stay in a place of intense pressure. It's in my nature to not give up, but I've also learned how to stick with something even when I'm being subdued. I know how to come back up after a hit. I know my own strength and the damage my rage can do. I have confidence in my ability to endure. I know that my subduer will eventually get off my chest and the poking will stop. Sometimes our Father intervenes and puts an end to things, but sometimes He lets us learn that through Him, we're capable of enduring hardship. He lets us learn to not be afraid of the heaviness. He knows when we've had enough, but he also knows when it's NOT time for it to end because there is more to learn. And so I may reach a snapping point. I may rage and kick and scream. But even though I'm aware of my growing weariness, I'm looking for what else I may learn from this experience. I'm not afraid of the fight.
In many ways, I feel like I'm reaching that snapping point with deployment. The soft, but repeated loneliness and longing is sometimes easy to ignore. In the beginning, it's easy to look deployment in the face and say, "You're not going to break me." Then after a few months without reprieve, a temper tantrum rose in me and I wanted to swat deployment away. However, when R&R came, I felt a sense of calm and strengthening, but that was only temporary. I had to say goodbye AGAIN. I came home to an empty house AGAIN. I felt lost and heavy in my own home AGAIN. I got through the first week or so, but I feel it. Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke. POKE. POKE! It rings louder and louder in my head. I'm in that place where I feel the rage building up inside me. I want to kick, fight, and scream. I don't want to take it anymore. I don't want to do it any longer. I want to be done. I feel myself starting to whimper, "Make it stop." However, I've learned how to stay in a place of intense pressure. It's in my nature to not give up, but I've also learned how to stick with something even when I'm being subdued. I know how to come back up after a hit. I know my own strength and the damage my rage can do. I have confidence in my ability to endure. I know that my subduer will eventually get off my chest and the poking will stop. Sometimes our Father intervenes and puts an end to things, but sometimes He lets us learn that through Him, we're capable of enduring hardship. He lets us learn to not be afraid of the heaviness. He knows when we've had enough, but he also knows when it's NOT time for it to end because there is more to learn. And so I may reach a snapping point. I may rage and kick and scream. But even though I'm aware of my growing weariness, I'm looking for what else I may learn from this experience. I'm not afraid of the fight.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
more on r&r
I had some anxiety about John coming home for R&R, mostly because of all the unknowns. I have changed since he left and I knew he had too to some degree. I worried it would be an extreme change and I'd be left wondering who the heck was this man I was married to. Would we still work well together? Would we still like each other? If I let the wondering go too far, it could cause a lot of stress. In fact, when we were engaged, we knew that a deployment was coming soon and considered waiting to get married until after he got back. He wasn't sure how much being in a war zone would change him and didn't want me to be "stuck" with someone I didn't agree to marry. He wanted me to know what I was getting into. However, we decided that you never really fully know "what you're getting into" when you get married. Life happens; things change. You make a commitment despite the fact that things may, and probably will, change. Even though we had said we were both all in, I still couldn't help but consider that eight months apart, with one of us facing war, might cause some road bumps.
Many other wives had said that their husbands were a little more short-tempered than before. Some said that it took a few days for their men to relax and not be so tense. I was preparing for those things and expecting a bit of tension. The first few hours we spent together were in the car driving home. After he hugged his truck in the parking lot, he opened my door and kissed me before going to his side. He held my hand, made me laugh, and showered my arms and cheeks with kisses while I drove. I could physically feel the pent up stress and anxiety leave my body. My shoulders relaxed and my breathing slowed. This was the man I fell in love and married. My worrying about him being tense had made me tense; funny how worrying does that!
Surprisingly, I was the one who had a harder time with the transition. Other than being completely overwhelmed and on edge at the grocery store (head on a swivel, eyes darting everywhere), he was basically the same guy I know and love. I was the one who ended up being short-tempered. We had been in San Antonio and I was being snippy for most of the day. I could hear myself being that way and hated the way I sounded. I didn't want to be like that, but I was having a really hard time controlling the 'tude. It seemed like everything he did or said irritated me. The more I tried to hold it in, the grumpier I got. I started to pick fights over nothing, which didn't really work because John diffused my attempts to fight every time. That night I laid in bed and the tears just started flowing down my face. I tried to hide them from John, but being the detective he is, he asked what was wrong. I tearfully cried, "I don't know!" And I really didn't at that moment, which made me even more upset because I'm usually quite in tune with my feelings. He held me and let me talk it out, a process that lead me to the answer. I had been so used to being by myself that it was almost like I had forgotten how to live in a close relationship with someone. Having to compromise and communicate made me grumpy. Living for yourself is easy. When there is no other person in the equation, you almost always get your way and there is no need to communicate anything. I just wasn't used to having him around and that realization saddened me. My reality had become one in which he wasn't a factor in the day to day happenings of life.
On top of that, I wasn't dealing well with the emotional roller coaster. When he's away there is a wall up to protect myself, but good relationships require intimacy and vulnerability. I had to tear down that protective wall in order to connect with him, yet I knew that he was leaving soon and didn't want to fully let go of my wall. That caused some emotional discord. Once I was able to embrace all of it, I was a much happier person. The joys and bliss were so much greater once I let go of my fear of the eventual let down and heartbreak. Once I was able to let in the lows of life, to actually stay there and respect those feelings for what they are, I could reach the highs of life on a deeper level. Vulnerability isn't such a scary thing when you know it allows good things to come in as well as the ugly.
Many other wives had said that their husbands were a little more short-tempered than before. Some said that it took a few days for their men to relax and not be so tense. I was preparing for those things and expecting a bit of tension. The first few hours we spent together were in the car driving home. After he hugged his truck in the parking lot, he opened my door and kissed me before going to his side. He held my hand, made me laugh, and showered my arms and cheeks with kisses while I drove. I could physically feel the pent up stress and anxiety leave my body. My shoulders relaxed and my breathing slowed. This was the man I fell in love and married. My worrying about him being tense had made me tense; funny how worrying does that!
Surprisingly, I was the one who had a harder time with the transition. Other than being completely overwhelmed and on edge at the grocery store (head on a swivel, eyes darting everywhere), he was basically the same guy I know and love. I was the one who ended up being short-tempered. We had been in San Antonio and I was being snippy for most of the day. I could hear myself being that way and hated the way I sounded. I didn't want to be like that, but I was having a really hard time controlling the 'tude. It seemed like everything he did or said irritated me. The more I tried to hold it in, the grumpier I got. I started to pick fights over nothing, which didn't really work because John diffused my attempts to fight every time. That night I laid in bed and the tears just started flowing down my face. I tried to hide them from John, but being the detective he is, he asked what was wrong. I tearfully cried, "I don't know!" And I really didn't at that moment, which made me even more upset because I'm usually quite in tune with my feelings. He held me and let me talk it out, a process that lead me to the answer. I had been so used to being by myself that it was almost like I had forgotten how to live in a close relationship with someone. Having to compromise and communicate made me grumpy. Living for yourself is easy. When there is no other person in the equation, you almost always get your way and there is no need to communicate anything. I just wasn't used to having him around and that realization saddened me. My reality had become one in which he wasn't a factor in the day to day happenings of life.
On top of that, I wasn't dealing well with the emotional roller coaster. When he's away there is a wall up to protect myself, but good relationships require intimacy and vulnerability. I had to tear down that protective wall in order to connect with him, yet I knew that he was leaving soon and didn't want to fully let go of my wall. That caused some emotional discord. Once I was able to embrace all of it, I was a much happier person. The joys and bliss were so much greater once I let go of my fear of the eventual let down and heartbreak. Once I was able to let in the lows of life, to actually stay there and respect those feelings for what they are, I could reach the highs of life on a deeper level. Vulnerability isn't such a scary thing when you know it allows good things to come in as well as the ugly.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Get yo' folate, mate!
For those of you that read this here blog but don't know me personally, you may not know that there is another side of me: the unashamed nerd. I'm particularly passionate about women's health and there has been a pressing issue on my mind today: folic acid. Also known as vitamin B9, or folate (as it occurs in the body), this vitamin is especially important in women of child-bearing age and commonly lacking in the American diet.
Folic acid reduces the risk of neural tube defects in a growing fetus. These neural tube defects affect the spinal cord and brain (as the neural tube becomes those structures) and can result in conditions like spina bifida and anencephaly (parts of the brain missing). It is important for all women to get enough folic acid in their diet, 400 mcg, even if they have no intention of being pregnant because the neural tube develops in the first few weeks of pregnancy, long before most women even know they are pregnant. So if you have working lady parts and those working lady parts may be around a working penis, you need to be taking folic acid! The CDC estimates that increasing folic acid intake to 400 mcg just one month prior to conception (and during pregnancy) reduces the risk of neural tube defects by 50-70%. This stuff is no joke, man... er, woman. Not a woman of child-bearing age? That's ok, folic acid is for you too! Folic acid helps makes new cells, particularly red blood cells; we all need it!
Surprisingly, studies have shown that our bodies absorb the synthetic version better. A daily multivitamin or supplement with 400 mcg (600 if you're pregnant or breastfeeding) of folic acid is recommended. However, heathy foods like spinach and citrus fruits are good sources of folic acid and one gets other benefits from consuming such foods than just the folic acid. Plus, I don't know about you, but I'd rather eat fresh produce than pop a pill! (Although, I do both, just to be safe.) Some good sources of folic acid include lentils and beans, fortified cereals, spinach, collard greens, broccoli, cauliflower, romaine lettuce, parsley, brussel sprouts, cabbage, bell peppers, tomatoes, leeks, strawberries, papaya... is anyone else getting hungry? What kind of delicious recipes can you come up with that are packed with folic acid?
Being healthy is for everyone, but folic acid intake is especially important for those who may become pregnant. If you're like me and the thought of being a mother makes you ill, you may not want to think about taking care of a baby that doesn't exist yet. However, if your vagina is near a penis, there is a chance you can become pregnant (real talk). A simple change can reduce the risk of a severe birth defect; so get yo' folate, mate!
Folic acid reduces the risk of neural tube defects in a growing fetus. These neural tube defects affect the spinal cord and brain (as the neural tube becomes those structures) and can result in conditions like spina bifida and anencephaly (parts of the brain missing). It is important for all women to get enough folic acid in their diet, 400 mcg, even if they have no intention of being pregnant because the neural tube develops in the first few weeks of pregnancy, long before most women even know they are pregnant. So if you have working lady parts and those working lady parts may be around a working penis, you need to be taking folic acid! The CDC estimates that increasing folic acid intake to 400 mcg just one month prior to conception (and during pregnancy) reduces the risk of neural tube defects by 50-70%. This stuff is no joke, man... er, woman. Not a woman of child-bearing age? That's ok, folic acid is for you too! Folic acid helps makes new cells, particularly red blood cells; we all need it!
Surprisingly, studies have shown that our bodies absorb the synthetic version better. A daily multivitamin or supplement with 400 mcg (600 if you're pregnant or breastfeeding) of folic acid is recommended. However, heathy foods like spinach and citrus fruits are good sources of folic acid and one gets other benefits from consuming such foods than just the folic acid. Plus, I don't know about you, but I'd rather eat fresh produce than pop a pill! (Although, I do both, just to be safe.) Some good sources of folic acid include lentils and beans, fortified cereals, spinach, collard greens, broccoli, cauliflower, romaine lettuce, parsley, brussel sprouts, cabbage, bell peppers, tomatoes, leeks, strawberries, papaya... is anyone else getting hungry? What kind of delicious recipes can you come up with that are packed with folic acid?
Being healthy is for everyone, but folic acid intake is especially important for those who may become pregnant. If you're like me and the thought of being a mother makes you ill, you may not want to think about taking care of a baby that doesn't exist yet. However, if your vagina is near a penis, there is a chance you can become pregnant (real talk). A simple change can reduce the risk of a severe birth defect; so get yo' folate, mate!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
rest and recuperation
Well, hello there! I have not written anything in a while because I was enjoying some rest and recuperation with my soldier. From what I understand (and it's constantly changing), soldiers who have deployment orders for more than nine months get a 15 day mid-tour leave called "R & R." Soldiers are given an approximate date for their leave, but no other specifics than that until a few hours ahead of time. Since John was the last one to get leave out of our circle of Army families, I was trying to get more information from the others about what they experienced and how the process went. As I talked to other Army wives, it was quickly apparent that no two experiences are the same and that I couldn't really gain any clues about details for John's leave. John was given a two-week window for when he may leave. That's the only information we knew for about a month. Then a couple of weeks ahead of time, he was given a specific day in which he was to report to his superiors for more information.
Once he reported to his superiors, he was given a briefing on how he is expected to conduct himself en route and while on leave. He then was transported to a bigger base where he was to fly out of. He was able to contact me once he got to the bigger base and inform me that he was supposed to be leaving the Middle East some time that evening. I didn't hear from him at all overnight so the next morning I assumed he was on his way to somewhere in Europe. He messaged me shortly after I woke up, however, saying that he still hadn't left the Middle East. He was able to give me an approximate time he was to arrive at his final destination: 2 pm the next day. 24 hours later, I hadn't heard from him again and it was nearing the time I would have to leave to drive almost 3 hours to the airport. I was getting very irritable and anxious at this point. I hadn't slept well in two days and multiple people were texting me asking when he was coming. I just kept saying, "I don't know," which heightened my stress because I really didn't know anything about where in the world my husband was. At that point, I didn't know if he had left the Middle East yet, if he had left Europe, or if he was still supposed to be arriving around 2. Still, I got ready and headed out not knowing if/when/where he'd be arriving.
Because I was going to one of the largest airports in the states, I was stressed about going to the right gate. Knowing that he was most likely on a military flight, I called the airport to see if anyone had information about where military flights arrive. I called the airport's mainline and kept getting disconnected. I just started going down the list of phone numbers on the airport's website until I got someone. Finally, someone transferred me to the USO. The USO informed me that there was in fact an international military flight arriving at 2 in terminal B. I still didn't know if he was on that flight, but it was the best guess I had.
About an hour into my drive, John called me from the East coast; what a relief! He gave me information about what airlines he would be flying and his flight number. After I hung up with him, I called my mom and asked her to find out what gate that flight number was arriving at. She told me a gate in D terminal. I felt more calm now that I had a flight number and a specific gate. However, a few minutes later my dad texted me saying, "I think that gate was a typo because that airline doesn't fly into D, only E. Hold on, your mom is calling the airline." I'm pretty sure this is when the sweats and shakes started because it was also the time when people started flooding my phone saying they had heard that John was on his way home. Lack of sleep, trying to drive in an unfamiliar area, the emotions of seeing my husband for the first time in 8 months, distracting text messages, and numerous changes in information all started to result in me being on the verge of a breakdown. I texted my dad, "I'll be at the airport in 10 mins... where am I going??"
I got a gate number from my parents, found a parking spot, rolled down the windows, and practiced some deep breathing. I had arrived an hour early and took the time to (attempt to) calm myself down and freshen up. I went inside and spoke with an employee to double check that I was at the right place for that flight number; he assured me I was. As I was waiting, something just felt wrong. I had no context for knowing where I was supposed to be (no one I talked to picked their husbands up at this airport), but my intuition told me that something wasn't right. I found the airline's desk and spoke with some agents explaining where he was coming from and that he was coming for his R&R leave. They explained that the airline was contracted out by the military and that even though this was the terminal where that airline arrives, all military flights arrived in terminal B (the terminal I was originally headed to). My eyes got really big as I looked at the clock; his plane was arriving in 40 minutes and I was in the wrong terminal! Hello, sweaty pits. The gate agent looked at me and told me to breathe and that it wasn't far away. I got in my car and drove to the correct terminal, although that part is a bit of a blur. I was running through the airport in heels and a little red halter top muttering "B 33, B 33, B 33" as I scanned the signs. A middle aged woman was walking toward me and said, "Honey, are you coming for a soldier?" Exasperated, I replied, "Yes! Is it that obvious?" She smiled and said, "It's this way." She then took me back to an area I had already walked passed, an area with American flags and photographers. I told her that I saw that area but that the agent told me to go to B 33! She kept telling me I was in the right place and she was the first person I trusted. I probably should have hugged her, but I was way too out of it to think of that then. Plus, I needed to practice my deep breathing again.
As I was waiting, Veterans and patriotic citizens started to file in to welcome home the returning soldiers. Two other wives showed up. I handed over my camera to someone. A lady with a clipboard shouted, "5 minutes to touch down!" If my pits had stopped sweating, they most definitely started again then. USO volunteers shuffled us up to where the soldiers would be coming from. Someone turned on patriotic music and I think I jumped with every crash of a symbol. The soldiers came from around a corner very slllloooowwwwlllly, adding to my anxiousness. Each handful of soldiers that trickled through got a warm round of applause and handshakes from those thanking them for their service. Finally, I saw John. I wanted to run all the way to where he was, but I waited for him to get a little closer. When I couldn't take it any longer, I ran toward him, practically knocking over a Vet who was shaking his hand. I jumped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. He spun me around with his arms engulfing me. He then put me down and kissed me like I've never been kissed! I was crying and laughing at the same time, so overwhelmed with emotions. It had been 234 days since I held him in my arms and I didn't want to let go, ever.
Once he reported to his superiors, he was given a briefing on how he is expected to conduct himself en route and while on leave. He then was transported to a bigger base where he was to fly out of. He was able to contact me once he got to the bigger base and inform me that he was supposed to be leaving the Middle East some time that evening. I didn't hear from him at all overnight so the next morning I assumed he was on his way to somewhere in Europe. He messaged me shortly after I woke up, however, saying that he still hadn't left the Middle East. He was able to give me an approximate time he was to arrive at his final destination: 2 pm the next day. 24 hours later, I hadn't heard from him again and it was nearing the time I would have to leave to drive almost 3 hours to the airport. I was getting very irritable and anxious at this point. I hadn't slept well in two days and multiple people were texting me asking when he was coming. I just kept saying, "I don't know," which heightened my stress because I really didn't know anything about where in the world my husband was. At that point, I didn't know if he had left the Middle East yet, if he had left Europe, or if he was still supposed to be arriving around 2. Still, I got ready and headed out not knowing if/when/where he'd be arriving.
Because I was going to one of the largest airports in the states, I was stressed about going to the right gate. Knowing that he was most likely on a military flight, I called the airport to see if anyone had information about where military flights arrive. I called the airport's mainline and kept getting disconnected. I just started going down the list of phone numbers on the airport's website until I got someone. Finally, someone transferred me to the USO. The USO informed me that there was in fact an international military flight arriving at 2 in terminal B. I still didn't know if he was on that flight, but it was the best guess I had.
About an hour into my drive, John called me from the East coast; what a relief! He gave me information about what airlines he would be flying and his flight number. After I hung up with him, I called my mom and asked her to find out what gate that flight number was arriving at. She told me a gate in D terminal. I felt more calm now that I had a flight number and a specific gate. However, a few minutes later my dad texted me saying, "I think that gate was a typo because that airline doesn't fly into D, only E. Hold on, your mom is calling the airline." I'm pretty sure this is when the sweats and shakes started because it was also the time when people started flooding my phone saying they had heard that John was on his way home. Lack of sleep, trying to drive in an unfamiliar area, the emotions of seeing my husband for the first time in 8 months, distracting text messages, and numerous changes in information all started to result in me being on the verge of a breakdown. I texted my dad, "I'll be at the airport in 10 mins... where am I going??"
I got a gate number from my parents, found a parking spot, rolled down the windows, and practiced some deep breathing. I had arrived an hour early and took the time to (attempt to) calm myself down and freshen up. I went inside and spoke with an employee to double check that I was at the right place for that flight number; he assured me I was. As I was waiting, something just felt wrong. I had no context for knowing where I was supposed to be (no one I talked to picked their husbands up at this airport), but my intuition told me that something wasn't right. I found the airline's desk and spoke with some agents explaining where he was coming from and that he was coming for his R&R leave. They explained that the airline was contracted out by the military and that even though this was the terminal where that airline arrives, all military flights arrived in terminal B (the terminal I was originally headed to). My eyes got really big as I looked at the clock; his plane was arriving in 40 minutes and I was in the wrong terminal! Hello, sweaty pits. The gate agent looked at me and told me to breathe and that it wasn't far away. I got in my car and drove to the correct terminal, although that part is a bit of a blur. I was running through the airport in heels and a little red halter top muttering "B 33, B 33, B 33" as I scanned the signs. A middle aged woman was walking toward me and said, "Honey, are you coming for a soldier?" Exasperated, I replied, "Yes! Is it that obvious?" She smiled and said, "It's this way." She then took me back to an area I had already walked passed, an area with American flags and photographers. I told her that I saw that area but that the agent told me to go to B 33! She kept telling me I was in the right place and she was the first person I trusted. I probably should have hugged her, but I was way too out of it to think of that then. Plus, I needed to practice my deep breathing again.
As I was waiting, Veterans and patriotic citizens started to file in to welcome home the returning soldiers. Two other wives showed up. I handed over my camera to someone. A lady with a clipboard shouted, "5 minutes to touch down!" If my pits had stopped sweating, they most definitely started again then. USO volunteers shuffled us up to where the soldiers would be coming from. Someone turned on patriotic music and I think I jumped with every crash of a symbol. The soldiers came from around a corner very slllloooowwwwlllly, adding to my anxiousness. Each handful of soldiers that trickled through got a warm round of applause and handshakes from those thanking them for their service. Finally, I saw John. I wanted to run all the way to where he was, but I waited for him to get a little closer. When I couldn't take it any longer, I ran toward him, practically knocking over a Vet who was shaking his hand. I jumped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. He spun me around with his arms engulfing me. He then put me down and kissed me like I've never been kissed! I was crying and laughing at the same time, so overwhelmed with emotions. It had been 234 days since I held him in my arms and I didn't want to let go, ever.
Monday, February 6, 2012
femininity
This is me without makeup, my face is washed out from the flash of a webcam and is completely naked. This is how I lived my life for many years and thought nothing of it. But then the ugly monster Comparison started working it's way into my brain. There were so many beautiful and mature-looking girls around me and I started to see myself as childish and boyish. I thought I had dodged the bullet of teenage angst because this self-loathing came much later than most girls experience. Thankfully, I am confident about other aspects that make me who I am to let it be too self-destructive.
However, those thoughts still creep in. In our society, being skinny is something people literally kill themselves over. I am naturally petite at 5 feet tall and 110 pounds. But damnit, if one more stranger remarks on how skinny I am, I may lose it. It's not a compliment to me. It makes me feel prepubescent and sickly looking. My breasts are tiny. My hips don't look like they could bear a child. People often look at my wedding ring and are shocked to find out that I'm old enough to be married. I fear leaving the house with no makeup on and in jeans and tennis shoes because I know the way I'll be treated. I often do not feel feminine and sexy. I have to make an effort to look like a woman.
I have turned to Victoria's Secret to help me feel sexy. I have bought countless items from their website including form-fitting clothes and padded bras. I want to cry every time I open that package from the mail and yet another size small outfit is too big. There's plenty of room left in the bust and shirts and dresses hang off of me. When I express this disappointment, most women roll their eyes at me and say, "Oh what I problem to have! You're thin and young looking." I just want to scream, "But I want to be curvy and sexy!"
This morning I read this wonderful blog post entitled "I'll feel sexy when..." Christine talks about the struggle of thinking "if only I was this way or that way." She writes about her friend, "She doesn't walk around trying to believe she is sexy. She is sexy. I am sexy. You are sexy. There's nothing to change. You already are." I recently took some boudoir photos to send to my deployed husband. I had such a blast doing them. It didn't take long before I was comfortably walking around naked, except some heels, in between poses. I was shaking out my hair and having a great time. I was having fun in my own skin, quite literally. When I saw some of the first test shots with the photographer, I exclaimed, "Now that's a nice ass, if I do say so myself!" And then I felt my cheeks turn red. Why was I so embarrassed to let that slip? I was so used to being self-depreciating that it felt utterly awkward to verbally praise myself. Now no one likes an arrogant jerk, but it's ok to like yourself. Let me say that again: it's ok to like the way you look. It's ok to think you're beautiful. It's not cocky or self-inflating. It can be if you take it too far, but I'm willing to bet most of us don't have it in us to. It takes more effort to see the positives in ourselves than the negative.
Being a woman is so much more than being one shape or another. I don't want to try to fit myself into some mold of what Hollywood or pornography or Victoria's Secret says I should be. I don't want to feel awkward about my size because of how other people comment on it. I don't want to feel like less of a woman because I'm not wearing make-up.
When I look at this photograph from my boudoir shoot, I see someone who is sexy. Not because I'm wearing fake lashes or have my hair curled, but because I am genuinely smiling. Sure, all the pampering helped make me feel happy and confident, but what is truly sexy about this photograph is that I'm content. I'm not striving. I'm not trying to look like someone else. Maybe wide hips and ample breasts are what makes one body appealing, but maybe my flat stomach and toned arms are part of what make me attractive. Each body is different and that's beautiful, but a truly sexy woman is one who is comfortable in her body. Makeup or not, I'm still the same person in both photographs. The trick, however, is to see myself just as sexy in both.
Second photo by Lauren Coughlan
Sunday, February 5, 2012
J and C Day
I answered my phone somewhere in the middle of Arizona. I was on my second day of my drive from Northern California to Texas. I was driving my then fiance's truck to his current duty station. His voice was a pleasant break to the monotony of the humdrum desert surroundings. He had proposed less than a month earlier, surprising me in California. We of course had been discussing wedding plans and trying to figure out a date that would coordinate with his hectic Army life. He didn't have official orders yet, but there was talk of a deployment in July, just 5 months away. We knew we wanted to get married soon enough that we'd have time to establish roles as husband and wife before he left. We also really wanted to have a wedding ceremony, which takes time and money to plan, so we decided to shoot for April.
His tone was business-like and direct. Coming from my easy-going guy, I knew something was up. His superiors weren't exactly being cooperative about securing his leave for April. "So I called your dad," he continued, "and he's mailed me your birth certificate and social security card so we have all the documents my sergeant said we may need." "Um... ok... did I have a say in this?" I chuckled to myself. I had never seen him like this. I'm usually the one researching, planning, and assertively making things happen. He honestly caught me off guard. It was suggested to him that we get married in a courthouse first because the Army would be more likely to grant leave for him to move his family to his new duty station than to have a wedding. However, we'd have to be legally married for them to honor me as his family. He also wanted to move out of the barracks and secure a home for us before the wedding so that we wouldn't have to stay in a hotel or temporary housing while all the paperwork was being filed. If we got legally married ahead of time, we could file the needed paperwork and he could clear the barracks and start receiving the housing allowance needed to pay our rent. Logically, it made sense and he knew it's what we needed to do. Trusting his judgement and agreeing with his assessment, I said, "Ok, I guess we're getting married this weekend!"
It was a crazy whirlwind because I was only in town for four and a half days. It was also a holiday weekend and I was scheduled to take an exam for the college nearby. I arrived late Thursday afternoon and the courthouse would be closed Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. That left only left Friday. We frantically awaited the arrival of my paperwork (which we ended up not needing). Once we got the paperwork on Friday afternoon, we headed to the courthouse. We both had brought nice clothes to change into, but figured we would get the license and then have a long wait for the judge and could change then. After we got the license, John went to the restroom and then came back to the waiting room to get the keys to get our clothes from the truck. Right as he grabbed the keys from my purse, the judge called us in. On one of the most important days of our life that would legally bind us as husband and wife, we were wearing jeans and t-shirts.
However, it didn't matter what we were wearing. It didn't matter that this is not at all what we had planned or imagined. It was a special, romantic, and emotional day. It was so intimate, literally just the two of us and a judge. I cried as I repeated those vows and John was teary-eyed, though I doubt that he'd admit it. We didn't have rings to exchange and we forgot to call our parents to put them on speaker phone. It all happened so fast, yet it was very real to us. We both respect marriage and hold it so highly We did not take the situation lightly and the fact that, in the eyes of the state of Texas, we were now one was incredibly special to us. Wedding or not, we were man and wife.
We made the decision to keep our courthouse marriage to ourselves until after the wedding. Our parents and the pastor that was officiating our ceremony knew and we wanted to keep it just between those select few. We didn't want to take away from our wedding day or face all the nay-sayers who'd certainly like to comment on our "rash" decision. It was something we knew we had to do for ourselves and we had the blessing and support of our parents; that was enough for us. However, it was incredibly difficult to keep such a big secret. I had already changed my name by the time of the wedding and was having trouble keeping track of which name to use in what situation. Even though I had left Texas shortly after we got married, there was still something very official about getting married, even if it didn't feel real yet. It caused some stress and growing pains that we weren't able to communicate with friends. It was one of the trade-offs of keeping it a secret. However, we conquered the conflicts and John was able to come home for a beautiful wedding celebration with our family and friends. With no time for a honeymoon, we headed to our new home in Texas shortly after the wedding.
As we've begun to let people know about getting married before our wedding, people have asked what date we will celebrate as our anniversary. Since April was the day when we publicly celebrated our marriage, we have decided that is when will we honor our anniversary. However, the "courthouse day" was important and special, so we're going to recognize that as well. Since Valentine's Day and the day we got married are so close together, I figured I'd let my husband off the hook and we'd combine the two into one magical, mushy holiday: J and C Day. As J and C Day approaches, I can't believe it's been almost one year since I signed my name on that court document and held my love's hands as I promised him my life. I can't wait until he's home so we can start celebrating. Here's to the upcoming J and C day! We don't expect you to celebrate with us, but if you need a reason to party, by all means, go ahead!
His tone was business-like and direct. Coming from my easy-going guy, I knew something was up. His superiors weren't exactly being cooperative about securing his leave for April. "So I called your dad," he continued, "and he's mailed me your birth certificate and social security card so we have all the documents my sergeant said we may need." "Um... ok... did I have a say in this?" I chuckled to myself. I had never seen him like this. I'm usually the one researching, planning, and assertively making things happen. He honestly caught me off guard. It was suggested to him that we get married in a courthouse first because the Army would be more likely to grant leave for him to move his family to his new duty station than to have a wedding. However, we'd have to be legally married for them to honor me as his family. He also wanted to move out of the barracks and secure a home for us before the wedding so that we wouldn't have to stay in a hotel or temporary housing while all the paperwork was being filed. If we got legally married ahead of time, we could file the needed paperwork and he could clear the barracks and start receiving the housing allowance needed to pay our rent. Logically, it made sense and he knew it's what we needed to do. Trusting his judgement and agreeing with his assessment, I said, "Ok, I guess we're getting married this weekend!"
It was a crazy whirlwind because I was only in town for four and a half days. It was also a holiday weekend and I was scheduled to take an exam for the college nearby. I arrived late Thursday afternoon and the courthouse would be closed Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. That left only left Friday. We frantically awaited the arrival of my paperwork (which we ended up not needing). Once we got the paperwork on Friday afternoon, we headed to the courthouse. We both had brought nice clothes to change into, but figured we would get the license and then have a long wait for the judge and could change then. After we got the license, John went to the restroom and then came back to the waiting room to get the keys to get our clothes from the truck. Right as he grabbed the keys from my purse, the judge called us in. On one of the most important days of our life that would legally bind us as husband and wife, we were wearing jeans and t-shirts.
However, it didn't matter what we were wearing. It didn't matter that this is not at all what we had planned or imagined. It was a special, romantic, and emotional day. It was so intimate, literally just the two of us and a judge. I cried as I repeated those vows and John was teary-eyed, though I doubt that he'd admit it. We didn't have rings to exchange and we forgot to call our parents to put them on speaker phone. It all happened so fast, yet it was very real to us. We both respect marriage and hold it so highly We did not take the situation lightly and the fact that, in the eyes of the state of Texas, we were now one was incredibly special to us. Wedding or not, we were man and wife.
We made the decision to keep our courthouse marriage to ourselves until after the wedding. Our parents and the pastor that was officiating our ceremony knew and we wanted to keep it just between those select few. We didn't want to take away from our wedding day or face all the nay-sayers who'd certainly like to comment on our "rash" decision. It was something we knew we had to do for ourselves and we had the blessing and support of our parents; that was enough for us. However, it was incredibly difficult to keep such a big secret. I had already changed my name by the time of the wedding and was having trouble keeping track of which name to use in what situation. Even though I had left Texas shortly after we got married, there was still something very official about getting married, even if it didn't feel real yet. It caused some stress and growing pains that we weren't able to communicate with friends. It was one of the trade-offs of keeping it a secret. However, we conquered the conflicts and John was able to come home for a beautiful wedding celebration with our family and friends. With no time for a honeymoon, we headed to our new home in Texas shortly after the wedding.
As we've begun to let people know about getting married before our wedding, people have asked what date we will celebrate as our anniversary. Since April was the day when we publicly celebrated our marriage, we have decided that is when will we honor our anniversary. However, the "courthouse day" was important and special, so we're going to recognize that as well. Since Valentine's Day and the day we got married are so close together, I figured I'd let my husband off the hook and we'd combine the two into one magical, mushy holiday: J and C Day. As J and C Day approaches, I can't believe it's been almost one year since I signed my name on that court document and held my love's hands as I promised him my life. I can't wait until he's home so we can start celebrating. Here's to the upcoming J and C day! We don't expect you to celebrate with us, but if you need a reason to party, by all means, go ahead!
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