Self-Care in the Age of Social Media (and other assorted chaos)

Over the past few years, I've divested from most social media. I quit Facebook two and a half years ago; after I got past the habit of thinking in status updates, I didn't miss it at all. I bumped up my Instagram usage at that time, but after a year, quit that, too. It had gone from pretty happy inspiration to more pointed politicking and bickering. I was on Twitter for a spell, following fat activists and other public figures I'd grown to admire but then, of course, it ends up being distilled into mostly hot takes and trolls so I stopped that. Finally, I was starting to get more involved in the Austin subreddit. It's a pretty calm place, and even arguments are largely respectful and calm. However, "the algorithm" decided that I like news, and so the feed was largely heart-breaking headlines from around the world. Last night, there were two in a row that made me say, "Nope. This is out, too." So I deleted it.

In the months since the pandemic began, I've actually had the time and mental wherewithal to read only a few books. But they've helped me focus in on what's important to me and what it is to which I want to be exposed.

Two nights ago was the first "Presidential" "debate." I didn't watch it, because Joe Biden and Donald Trump have been in the public arena for almost as long as I've been alive. They're known quantities. There are no surprises to be revealed. Why even bother? 

Apparently, I made the right decision, as 69% of watchers who were polled reported feeling "annoyed" by the process.

I'm choosing to head off annoyance at the pass.

I'm doing this by reading books that have a strong point of view but are not written in a purposefully inflammatory way. I just finished "The Liturgy of Politics: Spiritual Formation for the Sake of Our Neighbor," and am about 2/3 of the way through "Stamped from the Beginning." I highly recommend both. "The Liturgy of Politics" is definitely from a Christian perspective, and is convicting but a pretty easy read. "Stamped from the Beginning" is taking me longer because there is so much historical information that every once in a while, my brain needs to rest so I can digest some more. But it's impressively dispassionate; the author writes with a much cooler tone than I feel when I read about the injustices that we have wrought on our fellow countrymen throughout the US's past.

I'm selecting news sources that have a humorous bent because at least then I know they're going to editorialize and help me release some of the pressure from pretty heavy stories. Most "news" outlets editorialize wildly, but it's angry, and they're trying to engender anger (from every side) because it helps ratings. Not interested.

I'm listening to podcasts that report news from a different perspective than mine. I enjoy things like Code Switch and Latino USA because I have always had my news delivered to me, a white middle-class person, from a very uniform source. Black Twitter and The Root are extremely eye-opening, and I appreciate the education. 

I have not watched "The Social Dilemma" but they were discussing it on "The Holy Post" the other day (another podcast I enjoy, even though I'm a little more liberal than most of them, and a lot more liberal than some of them) and Phil Vischer mentioned how the documentary pointed out that when someone sees a news item that leans the same way they lean, it further reinforces their point of view. So "the algorithm" decides that you must really like stuff that is super conservative, and it feeds you that, whether it's from your friends' feeds or from the news feed itself. Then advertisers seek out people with that POV and feed them even more outlandish things, and it basically creates this echo chamber that "radicalizes" pretty much everyone. If you're left, you're going to be pushed WAY left; if you're right, you're going to be SUPER right-wing. I do not want to let outside sources determine what news I hear or how I feel about any of it. I'm trying to make deliberate choices both for my own mental health and for the sake of my being a better, more well-rounded "neighbor."

I won't want to talk about politics right now. I know that it's hard for me to articulate how I feel without getting emotionally invested and likely angry. I need to work on myself more before I can have a calm conversation about why I believe what I believe and how I can't understand why you can believe or disbelieve certain things. Basically, I need to deprogram myself.

I tried this experiment on Reddit: I was only kind. If I said something and someone responded with a "Are you saying this?! Then you're an idiot!" (that's editing; people attack a lot more creatively) I would respond with a sincere apology. I didn't let myself get riled up. It was actually very freeing. I need to learn to do this in person. With people I like and even love. It's harder, though, I think. Like if I believe that every human deserves equal rights and that it might take more work to get us to that point, and a stranger disagrees... okay, whatever dude. Just get out of my way. But if it's someone I'm trying to respect and have a relationship with, it's a lot harder not to descend into, "What kind of a monster are you?! What does it hurt YOU if this person gets to do this thing, or that person gets an extra one of those???!"

So please excuse me if I just walk away when items of a divisive nature come up. I won't disengage forever, but I have to for now. I have to figure out how to be the person I want to be even when faced with things I cannot believe exist. 

Also...

I'm a naturally optimistic and happy person. I like that about me. I have ended multiple friendships with people who were sad sacks and vehement constant victims because although their perpetual anger and hurt was tiring, when they expected me to get on board with their "The world is against me and everything sucks," I could not support them in that way. I don't believe that. I don't want to believe that. I want to be able to hone in on injustices without imagining them where they are not. Sometimes, when your tire goes flat on your way to a job interview, it just sucks. It's not god or the universe punishing you because everything is a bitch and it always will be. 

And it's hard to be happy when everyone seems to want you to be super incensed about everything "the other side" is doing. The enemy is real; turning everyone and everything into "the enemy" makes it impossible to fight the real battles. 

Anyway, all of that to say that I'm tired of being tired in my brain, so I'm disengaging from things that both stress me out and do not profit me to think about or discuss. Also, here is a picture of some ducks from the lake.

"Losing" Ourselves as Women

Maybe it's the new(ish) year? Maybe it's the cabin fever? Whatever, I'm noticing an extreme uptick in "inspirational" social media posts (Twitter/Instagram; that's all I'm on) about women, moms specifically, forging a path to "find" themselves amidst the business of being a parent.

This idea that becoming a parent (again, typically this is exclusively a mom thing) pulls you away from your true identity, or that it takes over so much that who you were is gone is... actually, that last one is fairly accurate. But not in a way that requires re-calibration.

Most of the women I know personally who post things like this are people I know to love their children immensely. These are women who thoughtfully pursue ways to connect with their children and expand their lives. They might work outside of the home, or they might be at-home parents... but they all value motherhood and their children's well-being as paramount.

So why do we feel "lost"? Why do we feel the need to take concrete steps to "self-care"? Why do we feel that, in order to connect with our truest selves, we necessarily must separate from our children?

Don't get me wrong: My second child is A LOT (my first child is a lot, too - most kids are - just in a less hands-on way). I am tired A LOT. I put my hands over my fact A LOT. EVERY DAY. I shoot James "the look" about a dozen times a night, as if to say, "See? This is my life. This is the entire ten hours you are gone. This is what I do. This is what I handle."

So I get the fatigue. I get the need for a breather. I usually take showers in the morning when Mal is asleep, just after James has left for work. I took a shower last night, though, after James got home from work, because I needed like four minutes where I wasn't trying to filter out a loudly-babbling preschooler or becoming dizzy and stressed from his constant whirlwind of movement and potential injuries.

But do I feel like, in the business of caring for him or my teenager, that I am somehow "losing myself"? Do I feel that, in not having huge swaths of child-free time, I am unable to connect with who I truly am? NO.

Because, even though I like to write, and I love making videos, and I wish like crazy that I could sing, and I enjoy spending a lot more time and effort on baking than I can right now, and none of those is available for me to do in any capacity as much as I'd like, the fact is what everything I do, everything that occupies any given moment of my day, IS, necessarily, part and parcel to who I am.

And being a mom is not a compartment within my identity, something to be shoved aside as somehow "less" than the sum of my parts. I AM a mom. Even if I take a cooking class, it's not bringing me closer to who I truly am, apart from being a parent. I'm still a parent. I am, and it's not a thing that is in competition with other hobbies or passions I have for the soul of my truest self.

It IS my truest self.

I am often tired and cranky and hungry and not doing what I'd rather be doing (which is likely pushing my kid on a swing instead of sitting on my butt, my truest passion). But in those moments of "sacrificing" my own preferences to do what needs to be done, I am definitely my best and most honorable self.

When I hear people urge women (why don't they urge men? That's a whole other conversation) to make time for "self care," or I hear "You can't pour from an empty cup," I feel like we, as moms, are acting an awful lot like martyrs. Like we're doing this thing that is so draining that we have earned a "clock out" to pursue something that's not as mundane.

And I feel for the special needs moms, who might never have the luxury. And for the moms grieving lost children who would give up every outside interest they have to have their child back. And for moms who have to work two jobs, and feel guilty that they have so little left over for their kids at the end (or beginning) of the day.

I don't know.

On social media, a take is that your kids will thrive, seeing you pursue something you love, as an actual whole person. But I wonder what that says to them. I mean, you're still their mom. You can't separate from that. They can't separate that from the other stuff you do, and you wouldn't want them to.

When I was younger, my mom was in a local singing group. They practiced once a week or every other week or something. I don't think she ever thought, "I've lost myself as a mom and teacher; I owe it to all of these kids to take time for self-care." I think she just liked singing, and it was something our family was able to swing.

That might not sound different, but, to me, the semantics are important here.

Do what you like. Make time for things you care about. But maybe stop holding it up in contrast to your being a mom? Why can't we be moms who like having dinner with our girlfriends? Or moms who make YouTube videos? Or moms who climb rock faces?

Why is it insulting to be "Mom"? Why do women want to be known for "more"? If it's a sexist thing, then society needs to work on valuing moms more; in the meantime, we need to find a way to get over that, and honor ALL of ourselves.

Wrapping Up Babecamp

This week, Virgie Tovar's book "You Have the Right to Remain Fat" came out, just as we were finishing up the online Babecamp. It has all been great fun, lots to think about, and tons of reinforcement.

One thing I realized is that I'm probably about 2.5-3 years past the target demo for Babecamp... Not age-wise, but body-ownership-wise. Which is a cool, comfortable place to be.

I listened to a lot of podcasts as Tovar did media for the book release. It really made me wonder what I might have thought about what she had to say when I was involved in previous relationships.

At one point in a podcast, the host said something like, "What does it say about your relationship when your partner is okay with your being hungry, dedicating hours to something you don't love doing, and denying yourself things you really like simply because of the social currency it conveys to them?"

:::blink:::

I had an active and overt eating disorder during my first marriage. Also, exercise bulimia. It was all set off by my husband telling me that I was overweight, and my trying to "fix" it. He was a witness to all of this. My appearance pleased him, and he obviously did not care what I did to acquire or maintain that appearance.

I had a more "healthy"-looking eating disorder and commitment to working out in a way that I clearly hated during my second marriage. I had gotten past most of the stuff from my 20s until my second husband also told me I was 50-60 pounds overweight and needed to lose it. He treated me with disgust and disapproval until I lost the weight, all while still expecting me to perform in the bedroom, knowing I was not physically appealing to my partner.

And I lost a LOT of weight due to what Tovar calls "internalized inferiority." I believed that my husband had the right to hate me for being fat "and disgusting," which was a moral failing on my part that showed all over my body. He was able to wield this, using my desire for his affection and approval, into a tool of control.

Over and over, as I've read about women who believe, due to their life experiences, that in order to live a full and free life, they will likely have to abandon their dreams of being in a lifelong relationship with a man, I recognize that I am married to the perfect man for me. He's the perfect match for where I am in my life right now, and the perfect partner to cheer me on as I learn and grow and come to find the woman I'm meant to be, who I didn't have the chance to find as I was spending so much time and energy on artificially maintaining a body type to remain pleasing to a critical male eye.

Furthermore, I'm grateful to be middle aged. It's so much easier to be confident in who I am and not really give a single stinking rodent's hindquarters what anyone else thinks about me.

Finally, Tovar said something I loved during an interview where the host "concern-trolled" her (which is when someone says, when speaking of fat acceptance, something to the extent of  "but what about health..."). Paraphrasing: There is no minimum weight someone has to be to deserve respect and freedom from bigotry.

This applies in so many realms, I want to keep it, most of all, at the forefront of my mind. There is no minimum of ability, health, intelligence, accomplishment, drive, etc. that someone needs to possess. Everybody deserves to expect to be treated as fully human because they are. And that's my favorite takeaway.

When Fatphobia Leads to False Conflations

Today, James and I had to have some vitals checked and do some blood work for a new life insurance policy.

First, the whole thing was kind of sketchy. They're a medical contractor that does the work for Mutual of Omaha, and they do offer to come to your house. I'm glad that James opted not to do that, because my allergies are worse at home than anywhere else, and that affects my heart rate at times, for sure.

Anyway, the address they gave us was a pretty spectacular glass office building that was way fancy.

Mal especially enjoyed this white noise indoor courtyard.

When I found the suite, I went in and told the guy we had a 9:30 appointment. He asked, "Do you know the name of the company? We have a lot of companies here." Well, actually, maybe? They didn't mention that they rent office share space, and that information would have been helpful.

Next, they'd instructed us to start drinking water before the appointment because we'd need to provide samples. I took this seriously, and when they hadn't called us in by 9:45 (we were already discussing how long to wait before we took off), I went to the bathroom. As I washed my hands, a lady opened the door and said, "Laura? Oh. We need a urine sample." I told her, "I held one for you for fifteen minutes." Sigh.

We went back into this office and I was ready. I am at a healthy headspacee, for the first time in 30 years, regarding my body. I eat and move and wear what and how I want, without thought to others' opinions, or without shaming myself, and it's so freeing. But I don't know how I'd react to having a number assigned to me (I don't really care what size I wear; that's never been an issue) and I don't want to risk obsessing or going down a dark tunnel over a stupid measurement of my body relative to the gravity of our planet.

So.

I said, "I need not to know what I weigh." The technician interrupted me with, "But no! You're beautiful." I said, "I know." (Seriously. Ask James.)

Just because I was performing self-care doesn't mean I think I'm ugly. On the contrary. Most of my life, I've felt pretty until outside sources "corrected" me. My not wanting to know my weight made her think I feel "too" fat and therefore ugly. There's a meme I just saw last week, and this recalled it.

From Body Positive Memes by Michelle Elman

So there's that. Anyway, because the whole office was carpeted, the scale didn't work, anyway, and so we both just provided weights out of the air. I said what I weighed when I first went in because I was pregnant with Mal. My body is definitely different now than then, but besides that pregnancy, I haven't weighed in 10 years, other than at the doctor's, and then I said the same thing: I can't know. It's not good for me.

Besides that, neither of the women who helped us had English as a first language, although one was fluent. The other was a lot more fluent in English than I am in any other language, but since we were talking about medical conditions and medication, sometimes had a difficult time understanding James and therefore writing down what he was saying. Never mind that EVERY SINGLE THING they asked us we'd already answered on our life insurance application.

Fortunately, the blood-letting was done quite adeptly and you can't even tell that I got jabbed today.

But also, the notes given to us before the appointment about what to expect were: "Blood and urine samples, body fat checks, basic questionnaires."

Sigh.

This is for life insurance, so I'm sure they have some rubric they use to determine risk, based on many factors. However, science is on the side of saying that "body fat" shouldn't be one of them. From a study a few years ago, researchers found "a U-shaped curve, with the bottom of the curve — the lowest risk of death — falling around 25 to 26 on the BMI chart, making the risk of early death lowest for those now labeled overweight. People considered 'mildly obese' had roughly the same risk of dying as those in the 'normal' category. Death rates went up for those on either end of the scale — underweight and severely obese — but not by much." (New York Post)

Anyway, I'm just glad that's over. Because ugh. And after fasting and not having caffeine, I treated myself to Krispy Kreme's Chips Ahoy doughnut and a soda. Because that, too, is self-care.

"You have to take care of yourself first"

I get that moms need a break now and then. I mean, I understand it AND I feel it. The bathroom is not a place of solace, so breaks usually involve getting out of the house (because when you have a
"still-nurse-to-sleep"er, even nap and bed times aren't "get out of jail free" cards). Today, I ran to the grocery store while James played with Mal. It wasn't exactly the spa or a night out with the ladies, but it was a lot easier than trying to get the stuff I needed to get while also trying to make sure Mal doesn't stand in the cart, or doesn't wander off in the .78 seconds it takes me to decide between the colby jack cheese or the mozzarella, or doesn't put anything in his mouth, or doesn't meander into the path of an oncoming cart, or doesn't try to commandeer a cash register.

Before that, though, Mal and I had gotten out to meet with a group of over-40 moms, exactly one of whom (besides myself) showed up. Her little was in school, so it was just us. And Mal. We got to talk, but it feels weird being the one with the kid, and she might have felt weird being the one without the kid at a park where there were a lot of parents and kids.

Anyway, while we chatted, she mentioned that it'd be neat to do a non-play-date get-together, and this is where I start drifting off mentally to some other place, because, frankly, the idea of organizing a bunch of people to meet at a place where you're going to eat or hang out over wine or whatever... That thought is EXHAUSTING to me.

I have limited "free" time. I don't have a babysitter. Mal will only stay with select family members, and I try not to overuse that. And if I'm calling in any favors, honestly, just going somewhere with my husband or my sister and hanging out and talking in actual full sentences is preferable to me at this stage in my life than trying to get to know other people.

Plus, I don't think this is just in Austin, but I think it's maybe worse in Austin than some other places, there's this whole, "We should TOTALLY do something!" excitement that happens in the early planning stages of get-togethers, that, by the end, turns out to be only 1 or 2 people actually following through.

Or no one. That happened about a year ago, when I tried to host this same group in my home, after we'd met at Central Market and I hadn't really gotten to chat with anyone because my then-not-quite-1-year-old would not play on the playground like all of the other kids did. He ran all over the patio, and kept going inside. Finally, I just gave up and went shopping. 

Wasn't he a bald little dude?

Thus, we decided to have it at my house the next time. Lots of people were excited, but in the end, I think only 1 said for sure she'd be there. And then she wasn't. She never contacted me, just flaked. About half an hour after it was supposed to start, Mal and I went somewhere else. I was just kind of waiting for someone to message me with, "I'm here, but you're not answering your door." No one did. Nothing. Like ever. No one followed up.

So now, a year later, the group tries to get together again, and it's just the two of us. She is a lovely person. She thinks we should meet without the kids since "especially during the school year, all of the kids are in school." Well, mine's not. And he probably won't ever be. And the truth is that I don't want to spend my precious "no kid" time just hanging out with random other older moms. Maybe if we got to know each other well enough that we became friends. But we're not. We're barely socially thoughtful of each other, at this point. And it's been two years since I've been in this very loose group.

Maybe some day. Maybe when it's easier. For now, I think we're doing okay the way we're doing it.