lydia : an urban crunchy mama

Codependency & Me
Like most adults, the word “codependency” has crossed my path here and there. It’s one of those psycho-babble words that has made its way into mainstream culture, but I’m not sure how well it’s actually understood or accounted for in people’s lives.

My friend and I tossed the word around shortly after college, but neither of us had anywhere near a firm grasp on what codependency entailed. The word appeared again when I was pregnant with Taylor, and Jim and I participated in a holistic childbirth preparation course. That time, codependency was explicitly described to me with an accompanying diagram and all. However, despite our facilitators’ best efforts, the term still flew right over me without resonance. (Although now it is abundantly clear to me how codependency relates to being a client in the maternity care system.)

Fast forward two years to Hokhmah’s first women’s circle, where I finally began to understand the intricate dynamics of codependency and how just about everyone is taking a part in it and often unconsciously ensnared in its web. Out came that same diagram from childbirth prep (as Hokhmah was one of our facilitators), and I started making connections between the diagram and concrete experiences from my life. As Eckhart Tolle says, one begins her journey by bringing conscious awareness to what is unfolding. Awareness first and integration and actualization later.

It’s been two years since that first women’s circle, and I’m well into the integration and actualization pieces of this journey. When I am engaged in an interaction with someone, I can (more and more often) clearly see how codependent dynamics may be in the mix. With this heightened awareness, I can be more Present in the interaction, without letting my ego or my conditioned response to role-play interfere.

If old habits creep in and old tapes start to play, I can later reflect on what really happened and process the experience until I discover a greater sense of peace. Processing experiences in this way completely changes my internal landscape without relying on external factors (i.e. people and events) to be different than what they already are.

Once this internal shift takes place, I can then approach the world with greater compassion and with a more open heart. The resulting spaciousness allows me to move forward with a renewed sense of clarity and generosity. I become more Myself, more aligned with the true essence of Me.

Have I glimpsed Heaven (on Earth or otherwise)?

* * * * *

Codependency, Parenting & Daily Life: Part II
Codependency, Parenting & Daily Life: Part III

I am amazed by Taylor’s boundless energy to create and explore in her new space. The small changes in her bedroom have been a source of great inspiration and pleasure.

We’ve been in the habit of collecting odd scraps in what Taylor calls her “Save It” box, and when the mood strikes we reach into that cavern of possibilities and build from our imagination.

Here are a couple of our creations…

A few of our family members enjoyed a ride in a leftover box from a kiddie meal.

Toilet paper rolls reminded Taylor of stingers on a jellyfish, so we stapled them together. From there, we built the body out of paper and cardboard and finally added the tentacles. Taylor aptly named this creation Jellyfish Robot.

Taylor experienced a bout with Chicken Pox recently, which meant an entire week of playing inside with me as her only companion. One afternoon, Taylor expressed an enthusiastic desire to sew. OK, why not? I provided her with pieces of felt and a threaded needled, and she happily sewed for over an hour, creating a napkin and a mattress for one of her dolls. Taylor has exhibited quite a bit of dexterity with fine motor activities, but this extra level of attention and care really took me by surprise. Taylor sleeps next to her doll’s mattress every night; she’s just so proud of what she accomplished.

The mood struck yet again early this morning, so we fished out more toilet paper rolls, a used paper cup, and a piece of tissue paper. Noticing the shape of the cup, Taylor thought to build a volcano. I put the interior structure together, and Taylor is working on painting lava down the sides. (It’s in a work in progress, so I don’t have pictures yet.)

Providing the space and opportunity for this kind of play and learning far outweighs any toy we can buy. The possibilities are endless.

P.S. I almost forgot to mention another pleasant surprise about this new space – Since every item has a very specific place in the arrangement, Taylor enjoys putting things back where they belong. Love it!

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a nightmare about birth. The most traumatic dream came to me almost three years ago. Birth dreams since then have mostly been empowering, ones where I birth my second child into my own hands before my midwife arrives at our home. Last night’s dream hangs in limbo somewhere between traumatic and triumphant.

I was in a small hospital room with Jim and a woman (a doula? a homebirth midwife? definitely an advocate of some kind) as nurses shuffled in and out with forms to be filled and unidentified syringes of medication to be admistered. I must have been in the very early stages of labor because I didn’t even feel the contractions, and I was able to hold a conversation.

I remember thinking through my situation, assessing hospital protocols and weighing the likelihood of experiencing unnecessary medical intervention. I was giving birth to my second child, and I was not about to put myself in a position that I would likely regret.

As a nurse prepared to put an IV in my hand, a roar like no other came through me. “I’M NOT SICK! MY BABY IS NOT SICK! WE DON’T BELONG IN THE HOSPITAL!”

I was like a wild, caged animal determined to keep her cub and herself safe from harm. With all this primal energy coursing through me, I was still able to reason. I thought about my first labor with Taylor, how I labored at home quickly, easily, and comfortably until I was ready to push. Since I had not yet detected any contractions with this second labor, I knew that staying at the hospital would only inhibit progress and invite unnecessary intervention.

Fade to black.

When I awoke, the feelings of trauma weighed heavily, as it if had been an event I actually endured. Even now as I write, those feelings linger. I laid in bed recapping the story and a sliver of objectivity pierced through, allowing me to see past the horror for a moment and to begin to acknowledge the power of my assertion — my healthy body and my healthy babies don’t belong in a hospital.