Health & Nutrition

Dare to Dance
March 1, 2018 In Health & Nutrition Resilience Series 3 Comments

For March 2018, Kindred Mom is hosting a series about Becoming a Resilient Mom.  

Subscribe and don’t miss a thing! We’d love to send some encouragement straight to your inbox.

My youngest daughter energetically climbs all over me as I struggle to keep her curious little baby hands away from IV lines. My oldest daughter stares at me, wearing a hesitant expression. She worries she might hurt me if she comes any closer. Meanwhile, my middle daughter obliviously scans my side table for snacks.

The visit does not last long enough to ease the ache my heart feels from being separated from them for so many days. At the same time, their energetic presence in my tiny hospital room completely exhausts me. I let out a sigh of relief, guilt, and sadness as they follow my husband and mother-in-law out of my room. Relief they are gone, guilt because I feel relieved, and sadness because they are no longer with me.

Alone and feeling utterly defeated, I contemplate how Crohn’s disease has robbed me of my peace of mind, my health, and how it now robs me of time with my kids.

***

Recalling my very first hospital stay three years ago, before I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, I remember feeling so scared that I might have had appendicitis. I was certain that an appendectomy would have been the worst thing that could have happened to me at that time. Little did I know.

Appendicitis would have been remedied by just one procedure. In contrast, autoimmune illness has made me feel as though my own body has betrayed me. It has taken more from me physically, mentally, and spiritually than I could say. I did not realize just how much I had to give, until I look back on the whole journey. I underwent three surgical procedures in 2017 (three years after my diagnosis) to remove damage done to my body, by my body. I hadn’t even turned 30 years old, and my appendix, though healthy, wound up being collateral damage in the process anyway.

I was still nursing my baby while having my veins continually pumped full of painkillers and antibiotics, until my treatment became so physically demanding, I was forced to stop earlier than I’d have liked to. I was supposed to be homeschooling my other two daughters, but my recoveries were far from quick, and we all became a little too familiar with Netflix. The rhythms of our home life abruptly shifted from stable to unpredictable as I vacillated between strong enough to make it through a day, and being so sick I was confined to my bed.

Before my third and final surgery, I had two intense procedures done (hence the hospitalizations) in an attempt to remedy an issue without needing a portion of my small intestine removed, which was a last resort. As part of the recovery from this procedure, I had to wear a surgical drain fixed  to  my abdomen that looked like a large, clear, rubber grenade hanging at my side. I was mortified by the contraption, and it was immensely painful. I hardly ever left my home because I was utterly embarrassed by it being semi-permanently fixed in my belly, held in place by thick black stitches. If I absolutely HAD to get out, I wore layers of clothing in an attempt to conceal this infection-collecting bulb that was supposed to help my body heal. At any cost, I did not want to be stared at by strangers, even if it meant that the kids and I stayed couped up in our home. This procedure failed and I underwent the second one, and was fitted with yet another surgical drain that was like a giant see-through plastic bag about six times the size of the rubber grenade. Great.

That was it for me. I couldn’t do it anymore. I had spent the past two months allowing these stupid complications from a disease I had no control over dictate how I lived my daily life and how I mothered my children. I allowed it to determine what we did or didn’t do when I had a choice because I was so embarrassed and angry. I knew a third and (hopefully) final surgery awaited me in the next month, and that recovery would take another six weeks of time away from me spending quality time with and taking care of my children.

I had four weeks to prepare for a big surgery. At this point I was stable, but emotionally depleted. It was the very end of spring, and I was not able to hide any large medical apparatus beneath layers of clothing. My first Sunday back in church after a number of missed weeks I released everything: my attempt to control the situation, my vanity and embarrassment, my disappointment and anger, and also my self-berating. I stood in the first row of the sanctuary during worship, sobbing with a giant, unconcealable, surgical drain hanging from my right hip. The words from my mouth were sincere: “So let go my soul, and trust in Him, the waves and wind still know His name. Through it all, my eyes are on you. Through it all it is well. It is well with me.”

From that morning on, I refused to let my unfavorable life circumstance get in the way of my life as a whole and my motherhood, if I could help it. We spent the following four weeks at the library, visiting parks, running errands, and visiting with friends. My kids and I even made new friends while out and about despite my unsightly, but necessary, medical accessory. I allowed people to come see me. I allowed them in to bring meals and surround me with prayer. I asked for help with babysitting. It was when I acknowledged that I couldn’t hold it all together that things suddenly came together. In a work of grace, this challenging situation worked out for our good right in the middle of the mess. I stopped hiding. I stopped keeping my health a secret. I stopped shutting myself and my girls inside in order to save face. I released my control over a situation where I had none to begin with.

Nearly one year later, I find myself living the same lessons I learned then. I once believed that resilience was only found in persisting against unfavorable circumstances. I’ve been humbled to learn that strength is also present when I relinquish my safety net of control.

Some days in life are like summertime: “the livin’ is easy”. Other days are a full-on downpour and  you have two choices:

You either struggle to keep everyone beneath your little umbrella, and end up frustrated because your feet still get soaked.

OR

You abandon your umbrella (whatever is your perceived protection) and embrace the rain. You might even dare to dance in it, as you discover grace that sustains and brings beauty from pain.

Mary Kate Brown is a homeschooling stay-at-home mama living in the suburbs of Chicago. She is married to her high-school sweetheart Brian, and together they have three daughters. She decorates cakes, is a hobby gardener, and enjoys reading. She is the author and creator of the “Start Your Homeschool” Guided Workbook, and she writes about faith and motherhood at www.choosinggraceblog.com. Find her on Facebook and Instagram.

>>  Listen to more of Mary Kate’s story on Episode 35 of the Kindred Mom Podcast: Becoming a Resilient Mom!  <<

Continue Reading

Why Fitness Is Easier to Foster in Community
January 21, 2018 In Health & Nutrition Self Care Series 1 Comment

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

I remember when my first daughter was born I had this funny idea that I would be able to wear my normal, pre-pregnancy clothes on the trip home from the hospital. After a traumatic birthing journey that spread across Memorial Day weekend, I was sadly mistaken. I was torn up, sore, struggling to breastfeed, and there was no-way-in-heck I was going to get those jeans over my middle section. I cried, and I wore my trusty, velvet, maternity/yoga pants home.

This was the beginning of the battle with my body.

I learned that the sacrifice of a mother is emotional, mental and physical. There was a huge learning curve ahead of me. As a former athlete and working woman, spending hours in a glider feeding my new baby girl was more difficult than I expected. Not only did I feel relegated to the chair, but I also had to reckon with my broken and bruised body.

The doctor said it would be a couple of months before I could run again. He was right.

And when I started walking, the journey was hard – full of starts and stops, weeping, self-loathing and learning to love my body again in all of the transitions, in all the various clothes sizes I would have to wear. That season served as a crucible for me in which God grew a passion for coming alongside women in their fitness journeys.

A year after I had my first baby girl, I found myself standing before a group of women from my MOPS group sharing about my journey. My husband, who was a physical trainer and coach, joined me and encouraged the women to reframe the way they thought about health and fitness.

He preached what he had preached to me through my hardest days. We are called to health and fitness not as a means to lose or gain weight or to look good in the latest fashion. We are called to steward our bodies well and to use them for God’s glory.

He discouraged diets and talked to the women about “functional fitness” that builds strength for mamas to function in their everyday lives of lifting babies and running after toddlers at the park. Together we encouraged the women to start somewhere. He provided a few exercises they could do at home with their kids.

I passed around a clipboard after that meeting for women who might like to gather at our house weekly with their kids to exercise together. My husband offered to train us for free. The Go Mama Workout was born.

We really had no idea what it would look like but we knew we wanted to provide a safe gathering place for mamas to exercise and encourage each other. Wednesday mornings looked a little like this: There were typically 8-10 mamas in stretchy workout clothes with twice as many kids roaming around the yard, crying for snacks, stealing each other’s toys and climbing on our backs. My hubby would craft the workout, which usually included a warmup, 20-minute CrossFit-style challenge and a cooldown. We would attempt to conquer that workout in between breastfeeding babes, running potty training toddlers to the toilet and running ourselves (with our own after-birth bladder issues) to the bathroom. It was chaotic and crazy and fun! We always included prayer, and sometimes potlucks or birthday parties.

These women became my tribe. We lifted each other up when we didn’t feel like working out. We encouraged each other through parenting challenges, marital trials, adoption journeys, and recovering from births. The Go Mama crew showed up at my house even after my husband’s surprising cancer diagnosis and cooked meals for me after his funeral.

They were and are my people. We collectively learned a lot of lessons about pushing beyond our mental and physical limits. We discovered achieving fitness goals is always easier in community.

The core of us went on to chaser bigger goals and dreams. One friend started her own version of the Go Mama Workout in her neighborhood across town. We ran half marathons and 10ks together. We raised money for a non-profit benefitting school children and orphanages in Haiti. Even today, we continue to meet regularly to run the mountainous trails of California and cheer each other on to new finish lines.

The words of Paul in 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 continue to reach out to me even now that I am beyond the baby and toddler years with a little more time for exercise and self-care:

“Or didn’t you realize that your body is a sacred place, the place of the Holy Spirit? Don’t you see that you can’t live however you please, squandering what God paid such a high price for? The physical part of you is not some piece of property belonging to the spiritual part of you. God owns the whole works. So let people see God in and through your body.”

These words challenge me to put my self talk in check. If my body – in whatever season or shape – is a sacred place, I need to view it and treat it that way. I need to watch the way I talk about my weight, my food and my clothes in front of my three growing daughters. Their body images will be largely influenced and shaped by their mother’s model.

Beautiful Mama, let me encourage you to take a minute to examine how you feel about your body. What are the things you are saying to yourself? What are your children hearing you say?

Then ask yourself how you might chase your fitness and goals in community. Pick up the phone. Send that text. Invite that mama from preschool you’ve been wanting to get to know. Gather some women from church or the play group and make some goals together. Today is your day. Now is your time.

Dorina Lazo Gilmore lives in Fresno, California with her new husband Shawn and three daughters. She is a published children’s author, poet, journalist and blogs about chasing God’s glory through every day at www.DorinaGilmore.com. When she isn’t writing, you can find Dorina running marathons or in the kitchen creating a new recipe. Connect with her on Instagram.

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<

Continue Reading

Transformation, Part 3: Stay the Course
January 18, 2018 In Health & Nutrition Self Care Series 1 Comment

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

 

In Part 1, I shared how physical transformation can only really begin when a woman first places high value on her worth. In Part 2, I discussed how transformation also requires discipline, and overcoming the mental obstacles that discipline requires can be a difficult but necessary experience toward achieving a healthy lifestyle. In this last installment of this Transformation series, I outline the specifics of what worked for me. I reiterate again that there are many avenues to take on the road to health, but I share this personal testimony as a means of inspiring you on your own journey.

Before we get into that though, a word to the new mamas. If perchance you are reading this while nursing a baby (or gestating one), may I suggest to you that you might be better served to revisit this essay down the road a bit? My last baby was nearly two before I felt like I had the bandwidth to do anything other than the basics. You know, things like eating, sleeping, making sure the kids didn’t die or kill each other and whatnot. I was literally pregnant or nursing for almost a decade before I was able to comprehend making a major personal lifestyle change of this nature.

My dear beautiful postpartum sister, I strongly encourage you not to even attempt a nutrition or exercise program for at least 9 months after that baby is born. There is a time for everything, and right now, the time is to enjoy the fleeting, exhausting, precious moments you have with that darling babe. You won’t get this time back, and you won’t regret spending it on that little one in your arms.

It’s okay. That precious bundle is a very worthy excuse to hold off a little longer, and wait till the time is right to pursue transformation.

With that in mind, here are some things that helped me to be successful in my journey towards fitness and experience the transformation that I’m enjoying now.

(photo by Hill Smiley Photography)

1. Get a Sister Squad

In a casual conversation one day, I confessed my body struggles to a close friend, who had long been successful in her exercise and nutrition choices. At the time, I was mostly just complaining, but before I could make excuses, she jumped in, “I’ll help you! Let’s start Monday!” And because I’m such a people-pleaser, I complied. Ha! Her tips and accountability profoundly undergirded my commitment and consistency. She would call or text every few days, and because I cared about her opinion, I stayed the course on days when I surely would have called it quits had I been on my own.

I also think it was significant that I needed the support of a sister, not just my spouse. My husband has stayed pretty fit throughout our marriage, and he surely could have given me exercise tips and held me accountable. Maybe for some couples that works out just fine – but for me, I needed to not confuse his acceptance and attraction to me with my outward physical appearance. And yes, I do think he enjoys the new and improved version of my body, but I also know for certain that he enjoyed me before I tightened up my abs and toned my butt.

We need our spouses to love, encourage and accept us, but I think we need our girlfriends to inspire us.

2. Prioritize Long-term Goals Over Short-term Results

This was huge. I will say this strongly, from both experience and observation: if x-number of pounds is your end-game, you will most likely gain the weight back when the regimen is over with. That’s why I opted for slow, gradual weight loss with fitness and dietary options that made sense over the long haul. I knew that if I started something too extreme or unreasonable as a permanent lifestyle choice, I would burn out and binge.

Give me all the cookies and ice cream, cuz this sucks and I hate my life!

Been there, done that. I didn’t want to hate my life; I wanted to love my life. Sounds simple, but it really is a paradigm shift. Decide to exercise and eat in a way that makes you feel good, healthy and happy. It doesn’t have to be a horrible overhaul or raging boot camp. It just has to be simple and consistent.

With this in mind, I aimed for about a pound a week in weight loss. Some weeks I lost nothing, others I lost between one-half to two pounds. Each week varied due to water retention, growing muscle mass or hormone fluctuations in my cycle, but on average, that was a doable goal. Back in college I lost 10 pounds in two weeks on the Atkins diet. But that kind of weight loss doesn’t tend to stick. The Tortoise really does beat the Hare when it comes to weight loss.

I also kept this mindset when it came to food, which brings me to my next point.

3. Commit to Holistic Nutrition, Not a Fad Diet

My friend (God bless her) encouraged me not to go on some extreme dieting phase–counting calories, swearing off carbs or totally giving up, well, anything, actually. All things in moderation! That said, when trying to change my lifestyle, I did need some parameters to guide my choices. Keeping in mind that I wanted something I could keep doing long-term, I decided my diet needed to be a) delicious, b) nutritious, and c) not overly-ambitious.

This looks different from person-to-person, but basically, I stuck to the following:

  • Breakfast: something high in protein to fuel my morning workouts. Examples include eggs with avocado & cherry tomatoes, yogurt parfaits or a protein-rich smoothie.
  • Lunch: A hearty, beefed-up salad or leftover soup (I really tried to make this my biggest vegetable-based meal of the day). And let me tell you, I’ve learned how to make a YUMMY salad. No suffering there!
  • Snack: something light and non-carb (think carrot sticks, fruit or nuts), and one piece of rich dark chocolate (absolutely non-negotiable for this lady) in the afternoons.
  • Dinner: A moderate portion of whatever I was feeding my family. Yes to pasta, rice or bread, as long as it was a small amount, and loaded with veggies and protein.
  • No-no’s: I completely swore off evening snacking, which was actually a major deal for me, since my night-owl husband tends to eat the majority of his daily calories after 10pm (no kidding). So, during our evening TV show, I told him I needed to not partake in his gorgeous platter of crackers, cheese, pepper jelly, chips and salsa. (Oh man, so tempting!) I contented myself with hot tea, and made that a hard and fast rule.

Other than suppers, I avoided white flour, and other than the chocolate (and sometimes certain salad dressings), I avoided sugar. On special occasions I would allow myself a small piece of dessert or half a glass of wine, but for the duration of the weight-loss part of my journey, I tried to be very mindful of these parameters. I know lots of people that have regular subscriptions to specialized smoothie-based nutritious programs, or Weight Watchers, etc, and if that’s your jam, then go for it! But for those that don’t enjoy drinking their calories, or have budget restrictions, or are concerned they won’t be able to maintain after the dieting phase is over, I hope these ideas give you some inspiration.

4. Begin a Doable, Personalized Exercise Routine

Some people are gym people, some are runners or cyclists, or play competitive sports. I’m a homebody with five kids and going pretty much anywhere feels like a huge deal to me. So respecting my own interests and limitations, I knew whatever exercise regimen I chose had to work long-term, year-round, and in my own living room. So I got a DVD, invested in a yoga mat and a few hand weights, and went to town.

It’s just 25 minutes a day, I reasoned. If I do nothing else all day, I can at least do 25 minutes.

I’ll admit, it was rough and ugly at first. I felt like I was doing nothing but flinging flab around. I was constantly sore, and couldn’t do a single pushup–even on my knees. To add insult to injury, I didn’t even lose a single pound for about 4 weeks! But with the support of my friend cheering me on, I pushed through that first horrid month. She assured me that building muscle mass initially can often look like gaining weight, but over time it makes my body more efficient at burning fat. It was a tough sell, but I chose to believe her and I didn’t quit.

Initially, I was so afraid of flaking out that I worked out 6-7 days a week. I was worried that if I got off the horse for even a day, then I wouldn’t get back on again. In hindsight, that was maybe a little…intense. Once I had formed a pretty consistent habit though, I backed off to 5 days and took the weekends off. Then I tried taking Wednesdays and Sundays off. I just kept tweaking things till I found the rhythm that was right for me–a rhythm that yielded consistent results and boosted my metabolism.

It wasn’t long before I started seeing changes. I made my first goal in 3 months, and felt so good about my eating and exercise lifestyle that I decided to continue until I felt like my body was at its absolute best. And wow– being stronger and healthier at 33 than I was at 20 was a pretty great feeling.

5. Change Your Mindset

Day-by-day, I took mental notes of my progress as I made each series of small choices. When I would indulge in a bowl of ice cream, I would look at that single small scoop and say to myself, This is all the ice cream I need. I no longer will choose to have big 3-scoop bowls of ice cream. This is enough. And so on. If I stayed up too late to wake up early for a workout, then I would make room in my schedule to work out later in the day. Other things would have to suffer the consequence, not the workout. Whatever small thing I implemented in my current lifestyle, I mentally visualized myself doing it for good.

6. Switch Things Up

After a while, the 3-pound hand weights became pretty easy for me. It was tempting to stay where it was comfortable and less difficult, but I was told that just doing the same-ol’ same-ol’ would eventually quit burning the fat and would no longer yield the results I was looking for. My muscles needed to be consistently challenged, so I moved up to the 5-pound. Then the 8-pound. I experimented with different workouts, different instructors, and workouts that focused on different parts of the body each day. I kept my body guessing and pushed the boundaries of my perceived mental limitations. Lately, I’ve incorporated in my routine a long cycling ride with my husband once or twice a week. I’ve faced my hatred of running and worked up to running 3-4 miles (when it is not allergy season). Recently, my kids showed off how they can do a chin-up on the monkey bars, so now I feel the itch to see if I can do that!

Switch it up. Get stronger and don’t back down. Find joy in breaking personal records and trying new things.

7. Maintain Healthy Motivation 

I’ve basically maintained my new lifestyle for over two years now. I’ve taken brief breaks for things like out-of-town vacations and grieving through personal loss, but when those times come, I don’t worry that I will regress anymore because I’ve established a habit. I can hardly believe it, but I often look forward to workouts now! Saying no to unhealthy snacks or goodies has become surprisingly easy, and I’m able to be a bit more lax than I was in those first several months. I’ll drink wine more frequently, make cookies sometimes, or occasionally eat a sandwich with yummy sourdough bread, rather than a salad. But mostly, I still stick to my routine outlined above.

Often, people will lose steam after the weight is gone, and old habits creep back in. Long-term, healthy motivation has to go beyond mere weight loss if you want to stay the course after the goals have been met. Here’s some of my other motivators that keep me going:

  • I want to have a strong back in my old age. Okay, strong arms, legs, and joints too, but being genetically predisposed to having back problems, I want to do my part today to give my older self the best chance for success. What genetic predispositions are in your family? Obviously, we can’t control everything, but making these kinds of lifestyle choices certainly can’t hurt your chances to prevent things like heart disease, diabetes or chronic pain.
  • I want to have strong bones in old age. Many old people have bones that are quite brittle because they long ago quit doing the kind of physical activity necessary to strengthen them. Did you know that our bones stop regenerating in our late 20s? Bones will only “remember” to generate new cells if they are put under pressure. And strengthening muscles is how to put pressure on your bones. That motivates me!
  • I want to be an energetic person–today and in times to come. I’m not just investing in my current energy status, but in being able to run around with my future grandbabies! Maybe thinking about our toddler or third-grader growing up and having kids is a little hard to comprehend right now, but we are wise to prepare for life down the road. Someday my children will be grown and moved out, and I also want to have the stamina to travel and adventure with my spouse in seasons when mothering is not quite so all-consuming.
  • I want to uphold an example for my children of keeping physically active and valuing myself. Little eyes are watching, and mine have asked me lots of questions about why I huff and puff in their living room each morning, and this has led to some really fruitful discussion. We talk about how bodies work, about monitoring sugar intake, about how doing hard things can be extremely rewarding. When my kids were tiny, I couldn’t just tell them to clean their room or scramble eggs. I had to clean it with them; I had to show them. Teaching physical fitness is no different, and preparing them for a healthy lifestyle is maybe my biggest motivator of all.

What challenges are you facing in fitness? Where are you at in your journey? I sincerely hope that my story of personal transformation encourages you along the way, and gives you hope. You are worthy of the effort, and stronger than you know.

Transformation is possible.

Marilynn Song Harri is a happy wife, mom and homemaker in the small town of Walla Walla, Washington. While she keeps very busy raising and teaching five children at home, she pursues a life of simplicity, laughter and loving Jesus.

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<

Continue Reading

Transformation, Part 2: Discover Your Strength
January 17, 2018 In Health & Nutrition Self Care Series 1 Comment

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

(This is Part 2 of the Transformation series. Read Part 1 Here.)

It took me many years of learning how to properly value my inner worth, before I arrived at a place where I could begin to work on my body for the right reasons, and with effective results. All previous attempts flopped rather miserably. Every now and then, I’d summon enough gusto to quit sugar for a 30 day spurt or start running a few times a week (which would last a couple months or so till seasonal allergies kicked in). I even tried the Atkin’s diet for a summer in college. I wanted a quick fix, but deep down, I knew what my body needed was a lifestyle change. Being the Type A perfectionist that I am, I got to a place where I didn’t even want to try unless I knew I would be successful for the long-haul.

As I previously shared, I needed to understand my worth before I could make much headway, but I also needed something else.

Discipline.

Ugh. Do any of you inwardly cringe at that word? For myself, I felt like discipline was equal to  certain failure. Some days in those early years of motherhood, I felt like the only disciplines I could master was making my cup of coffee in the morning and having a consistent nap schedule. Laundry, household chores, child training, meal planning – all of those seemed to only happen on an “ohmigosh-I-can’t-stand-it-anymore” basis. Mounting chaos would make me crazy, which resulted in a cleaning/organizational frenzy, after which I’d have maybe two minutes of peace before the cycle began again.

How am I supposed to be so many things to so many people and have energy leftover to care for myself? Whatever. I’m just gonna have to get used to feeling like a slug and start picturing myself as a plump, but jolly middle-aged woman, and fuggedaboutit. It’s not worth the stress!

At one time, I struggled to make any personal progress because I didn’t properly value my body, but then I began to use my circumstances as an excuse to stay stuck. It was a crutch, and I have to confess, there was a concentrated dose of straight-up laziness mixed in there too.

Before I could overcome those mental obstacles and succeed in making the disciplined lifestyle changes I wanted, I had to admit to myself that my lazy-ass excuses were lame, and did nothing but hold me back.

I suggest to you that you can only fight lies when you confess you’ve been listening to them, and you can only beat the lies when you actively pursue what is true.

Are you lazy? Own it. 

Do you fear failure? Confess that. 

And then move past it and discover the greater truth–that your body is ready for this.

I’ve said before that the child-bearing years took a toll on my body confidence, but in another way, it served as a potent reminder that helped me get out of the slug-state I found myself in and embrace my full potential. I vividly recollect bearing down with all my might to evict my firstborn son from my womb with a primal scream after 14 hours of unmedicated back labor. I honestly remember thinking I was going to die. So when they finally placed him in my arms, I was overwhelmed with dumbfounded awe.

My body had defied my feelings entirely and not only survived, but also gave breath to another human being.

I couldn’t get over that realization. Unwittingly, that experience proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that my feelings are not always an accurate barometer of the possibilities. If that’s true, then this body I casually walk around in is capable of far more than I ever imagined. Furthermore, if it could pump out those babies, it could definitely stand to pump a little iron.

Facing my doubts, fears and excuses, I began my journey to transformation. Throughout the next phase of my path to fitness, I lost the baby weight (and then some), my metabolism and energy dramatically increased, I enjoyed the outdoors more, I overcame my constant craving for sweets, I exchanged chronic aches for sore-but-strengthened muscles, my hormone balance improved, and I got to purchase a whole new wardrobe of clothes that I feel cute wearing. Most significantly, I discovered my strength, and proved to myself that change is possible. I can’t even describe how empowering the journey has been.

Discipline doesn’t equal failure after all. In fact, true discipline leads to empowerment.

I absolutely believe it can be that way for you, fellow mama. I realize there are many paths to fitness, and in sharing my story I don’t mean to prescribe a one-size-fits-all approach. Tomorrow, in part 3, I will outline the specific guidelines that worked for me, and I share it in hopes that it will encourage you to find the way that works for you and stick with it, because your body is stronger than you think it is.

Marilynn Song Harri is a happy wife, mom and homemaker in the small town of Walla Walla, Washington. While she keeps very busy raising and teaching five children at home, she pursues a life of simplicity, laughter and loving Jesus.

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<

Continue Reading

Transformation, Part 1: Find Your Worth
January 16, 2018 In Health & Nutrition Self Care Series 3 Comments

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

 

Most mornings these days I am barefoot on a yoga mat or pumping hand weights to an overly excited video instructor. I can’t do the splits or run a marathon, but I can balance, flex, lift and stretch way beyond what I thought possible a few years ago. Back in the day, I was an awkward, non-athletic teenager. I mostly preferred to stay indoors due to debilitating allergies and I battled constant feelings of insecurity. Whatever confidence I gained during my college and newlywed years, took quite a beating when the childbearing season arrived. I loved being a stay-at-home mom, but years of feeling physically weak and tired really took a toll. It was a long road, full of lots of trial and error, but through the process, I discovered I actually needed to change the way I thought about myself before I could successfully change my physical condition.

For me, like most women, it was never just about the weight. My journey involves much deeper themes: identity, beauty, worth, acceptance, overcoming lies, discipline, and growth.

This is my story. Maybe you’re a fellow fitness mom too, and you’re reading this as encouragement on your journey to wellness. Perhaps though, you’re more like I was once upon a time…

Postpartum with a newborn, with three other children under the age of five.

Lethargic, squishy, utterly overwhelmed.

Bitterly rolling my eyes at every airbrushed supermodel splashing her oversized boobs all over the magazines at the checkout.

Often, I felt like I didn’t have a sense of self anymore because four tiny, dependent and demanding tenants had moved in. They trashed the place, and didn’t even pay rent!

I remember vividly what it was like to wish for change, but feel helplessly unmotivated–too exhausted to do anything other than survive. Resigned to basically feel like frump-girl forever, I wallowed in plates of cookies and Netflix binges, and tried to put my focus on raising my children and putting semi-balanced meals on the table. At least I can cook, I reasoned. I struggled to justify my shortcomings in the areas of fitness and self-care and held on for dear life to all the things that brought validation.

As the years went on, I made a conscious effort to accept the state of my body. I didn’t love the way I looked, but I didn’t really have the time or energy to dwell on it, let alone do something about it. Furthermore, I did have to give my body a little credit. My husband and I had conceived five children, and my own body had developed, labored, delivered, nurtured, and begun the task of raising these breathtakingly beautiful human beings. The longer I watched them grow, the wonder of it all exploded inside my soul.

My stretch marks and flabby skin became my battle scars, decorating my body with the reminder that I had accomplished a truly heroic thing–five times over. This body didn’t deserve criticism; it was a gift, a miracle, and need only be given praise for being so greatly blessed.

Thus, with a little self-appreciation and gratitude for the healthy body I was given, I stepped out of frustrated resignation into acceptance.

It was my husband who helped me take the next steps in my journey to transformation. I am exceedingly grateful for his unconditional love along the way. Unexpectedly, it was in our bedroom where I experienced some of the most profound validation of my true worth. Through some wise advice I received early on in our marriage, I decided that presenting myself as beautiful (whether I felt that way or not), was the key to sexiness. I determined to not let my extra rolls and squish inhibit the way I loved my husband. I must have stumbled onto a secret, because as I experienced my husband delighting in me, I realized that he was not seeing the woman I often criticized in my reflection. He didn’t see past my saggy belly; he loved me for my saggy belly, that had stretched out to bear his sons and daughters. He didn’t love me if or when; he loved me now and forever. Through His loving eyes, my longing heart glimpsed a reflection of how my Creator looks upon His creation–me–perfect, as is, lumps, bumps, weaknesses, and all; unique, and fashioned with purpose and loving attention.

Relieved of such unfair self-criticism, I made another step on my journey. This time beyond mere acceptance and into a healthy self-love for this body I have, even while in my weak and flawed state. I am ravishingly beautiful and worthy of affection, and I don’t need affirmation from anyone to acknowledge that wonderful truth.

Coming up in Part 3, I’ll share about the fitness part of my journey, but my transformation began long before I pushed play on a workout video or tweaked my nutrition.

Transformation only truly begins for the woman who places high value on her worth.

It is extremely difficult to properly strengthen and feed our bodies if we don’t first honor the worth and beauty of the woman within–because if we despise her, no amount of pounds lost or sizes down or exercise regimens or plastic surgeries or fad diets will help. We may look better in a bikini, but it will never be enough, because we never valued our beautiful selves to begin with.

Who is that woman deep inside? Is she worthy of love? I emphatically submit that the answer is yes. I encourage my fellow kindred mamas to explore that reality before hopping on board with the next fitness trend. Surround yourselves with people that build you up and call forth your true identity. Pray. Journal. Verbally affirm the woman you are and want to be. Write down those defeatist, discouraging lies that play on repeat in your mind every day, then stick that paper through a shredder. Take the first step of your personal transformation.

You are worth it.

(Continue reading this series: Part 2 here.)

 Marilynn Song Harri is a happy wife, mom and homemaker in the small town of Walla Walla, Washington. While she keeps very busy raising and teaching five children at home, she pursues a life of simplicity, laughter and loving Jesus.

 

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<

Continue Reading

Growing Compassion For My Body
January 11, 2018 In Health & Nutrition Self Care Series No Comment

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

 

“FINE,” I said, with malice stored up for years, “I guess I don’t completely hate you. Today.”

I kicked the scale back to its place. It remains unclear whether the words were to the scale or my body. The numbers had shown a pound or two lower than I’d seen in a long while. I hit and passed this number on the way up as I was cooking the littlest baby. She’s now a toddler, so it seems I’d be glad to finally see this progress.

It wasn’t enough.

I’ve fought with my body for my entire life. I’ve hated it for most of that. In the last few years, I thought we’d come to an understanding, my body and I. I would no longer punish her with exercise and restrictive eating- they’ve never been effective for me anyway. Instead, I’d be kind. I’d move her in ways that felt good, feed her nourishing food. She would keep schlepping me around, and I’d stop glaring at her.

I had hoped this kindness (or what passed for it, anyway) was something I could hold onto, that I could cross this line away from the self-hatred and abuse and never step backwards over it. Sure, some days I’d be unhappy with my shape- I’d love to feel good in my skin and my clothing, but surely I would never go back to the misery of hating this body and punishing it for my insecurities.

Yet here I was, in my underwear in the bathroom, kicking the scale and cursing my body after (what should be) a victory.

It’s time for a change. I don’t need to try anything new; I need to regain some ground. More than joining a gym or eating kale or cutting out pasta and ice cream, I need to return to some compassion for my body. This body has, in various ways, provided nutrition for one, two, and occasionally three babies at a time without a single day’s break for nearly eight years. This body can lift itself, a toddler, a baby in a car seat, and a diaper bag up a flight and a half of stairs. In return, I have given it habitually minimal sleep, chronically high cortisol, and no small amount of disdain.

Here’s my plan:

I’m going to go back to referring to my body as “her” rather than “it.” This seems like a small thing, but talking about my body like I’m talking about a friend helps me be a little kinder and more understanding. I know how to be a friend, so I’m leveraging that to find compassion for myself.

I’m going to bed earlier. I need more rest than I’ve gotten. I’m in a season right now where sleep is a real possibility most nights, but I have to give up some of that late-night alone time. It’s a bummer, but while this body continues to do the things I need *her* to without much complaint, I’m aware that if my body isn’t at her best, neither am I.

I’m going to eat and move as if I like myself. You’ll find plants and protein in my kitchen because I feel better when I get plenty of both. I’m picking my strength training practice back up, because I’m less prone to soreness and injury when my core and legs are strong. Weight loss is not a primary goal for me, and will never again be my bottom line. If it comes along with health? Awesome. I hope it will. But when I’m focused on weight loss, self-care becomes self-punishment and self-loathing. I can’t make that trade again.

I’m going to work on renewing my mind. Again. When I catch the negative thoughts about my body, I’m taking them straight to Jesus. He made my body and he lived in one, so I’m pretty sure he’s not cool with me hating what he gave me. This is the hardest part, because it’s so, SO easy to spiral into all I wish I could change. My goal is to be specifically thankful for whatever part is causing me grief at the moment. For example, my current least favorite spot is my belly: due to years of near-constant gestation, it reminds me of a not-quite-deflated sumo suit. It wasn’t small to begin with, but now it’s really looking squishy. Every time I see it in the mirror, every time my husband or one of those babies touch it, I cringe. So now, when I catch that twinge of self-contempt, I will turn to Jesus in gratitude for THAT belly. The one that I have, not the one I wish I had. It grew babies. It houses vital organs. Right now, it is hanging on to energy stores because my poor body wants to have it available- she doesn’t know I’m planning to give her some rest from feeding children soon, that releasing those stores would actually help. Even this hoarding is well-designed protection for me from Jesus.

It’s not easy. Honestly, I feel like throwing away all the sugar in my house and consuming only wheatgrass juice for a year might be easier. But for me, any true self-care has to stem from self-compassion. It’s time to feed THAT again.

Robin Chapman is a full-time imperfect Jesus lover, wife, and homeschooling mama to four babies, ages one to seven. When she isn’t buried in children or hiding from them, she enjoys reading, photography, and sharing stories on her blog, where she’d love to connect with you! You can also find her on Facebook or Instagram… or perhaps holed up in her bathroom with some coffee. 

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<

Continue Reading

My Broken Postpartum Body
November 16, 2017 In Health & Nutrition Pregnancy & Birth No Comment

For the month of November, our community is covering the following topics: Postpartum Experiences/Postpartum Depression, Teamwork & Communication in Parenting, & National Adoption Awareness Month/World Adoption Day (Nov. 9th).

For a limited time, we have 11 Ways to Minimize Holiday Stress available for free to subscribers. Get your copy today!

The scent of candle wicks and sweat hung in the air as her newborn cry ushered out my last strained moan. Hot tears tumbled from my eyes, dripping down my neck, and onto the baby before mingling into the water around us. They were tears of gratitude, but if I’m honest, equally tears of relief. I conjured all the techniques I’d ever learned to survive the sensation of her head tearing through my birth canal. Finally, all the anguish was forgotten as I cradled 8 pounds of pure sweetness in the warmth of the morning glow now reaching through the heavy curtains.

The next three days seemed a blur of precious memories, nursing, afterpains and little sleep. My clumsy steps on the cold, creaking floor interrupted the midnight stillness of our small condo as I waddled yet again to the bathroom. My body ached, my back throbbed and I felt the kind of pressure I had felt days before as the baby got into position for birth. Except now, the baby was out. I pushed my concern aside, reasoning that surely this was all par for the course after a precipitous labor.

Concern turned into alarm when my bathroom trip revealed a small bulge amid all the passing postpartum blood. The next hour was a myriad of bathroom trips, prayers with my husband and calls to my midwife. Puzzled and concerned, my husband gently suggested I lay down on the bathroom floor. My eyes pleaded with him for another idea, but desperate for an answer, I sprawled on the floor at the mercy of my husband’s eyes. I have never felt more humiliated and tenderly loved at the same time in all my life. I felt like a bloody bundle of sagging skin and engorged breasts, only a shadow of the woman I knew as a ripe and glowing expectant mother.

My husband’s steady face couldn’t hide his worry as he said, “I’m no doctor, but what is bulging out looks like an organ.”

Indeed, it was.

Stage 3 uterine prolapse. There, I said it. You know, an issue that supposedly aging women encounter. For days and weeks, I went to the bathroom terrified that this mysterious bulge would come out again. My midwife tried to assure me that I would most likely heal in time. Now weeks later, I’m fidgeting with my paper robe in a cold, sterile examination room. I blink away tears and stare at the clock, trying to see this situation on the bright side. Only I’m having a hard time finding it. My body has betrayed me.

It was hard not to feel guilty for the grief I felt when, in the end, I had a healthy baby to show for it. I tried to focus on the sweet stuff, but although there was no longer a protruding bulge, my symptoms and pain worsened, even as I followed medical advice. I couldn’t make amends with this. The throbbing may have started in my body, but now, it reverberated in my soul. I felt broken.

Having lost most of my baby weight, I kept getting the whole, “Wow, you really bounce back fast.” If they only knew how badly I ached to be present as a mommy, yet lived impeded by an invisible affliction too personal to mention. I couldn’t lift my two-month-old baby without being reminded that while everything looked normal on the outside, I didn’t know if I’d ever feel the same.

After trying to outrun the heaviness of my disappointment, I started to embrace the truth that healing for my body and soul would only come on the other side of acceptance and self-love. It started with acknowledging my grief and anger. Instead of concealing it, I brought it to the Father, who reminded me that the emotional, mental and physical tethers I was experiencing didn’t define my worth. I had permission to feel, to laugh and to see the true beauty of who I am inside and out. This is where recovery began.

Two years later, I can look back and see how God wove the people, answers, resources and empowerment I needed into my once raw journey. The doctor recently pronounced by prolapse “resolved” and it didn’t spur the emotions I thought it would. Then I realized, it was because my heart was resolved long before my body was recovered. I still have “off” days from time to time. It’s okay. This journey has taught me that acceptance and love have the final word.

Hannah Savage is a wife and busy mom of 3. She writes about cultivating home from the inside out on her blog at HannahSavage.com. When she’s not homeschooling and investing in her local community, she loves connecting with moms in the trenches on Facebook and Instagram.

 

Continue Reading

Burpees: Why am I Doing This?
September 22, 2017 In Health & Nutrition No Comment

For the month of September, Kindred Mom is kicking off our New Mom Series with a focus on Pregnancy.  We are also covering the following topics: Routines & Habits for Success, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast resumes this month after a break in August. Subscribe in your favorite podcast app to stay up to date with new episodes as they release.

 

I am constantly thinking about what needs to be done; how to stay one step ahead in my day so as not to be swallowed whole. My planner sits open with beautiful blank pages waiting to help me organize my thoughts into actionable tasks. The problem is, I am fearful of messing up those beautiful pages. My handwriting has to be perfect so it is pleasing when I look at it…a work of art. I don’t want to brain-dump on these pages…maybe I can find some scratch paper?  I end up keeping the thoughts to myself in my already cluttered mind so as not to mar the page. I think about how to best be efficient with my time instead of actually being efficient with my time. I hypothesize, theorize, and philosophize about my day.  The time spent in my head ends up hindering me from accomplishing what I want to.  Critical thinking is a good thing but what is all that thinking good for if it produces nothing? I am in desperate need of a little less (mental) talk and a lot more action. Exercise is the answer to quiet my perpetually running mind.

**

Burpees. That infernal exercise that makes me look like a complete imbecile. The fitness model in the book I reference begins in a perfect push-up position: legs, back, and head in one long lean line. She hops effortlessly bringing her feet forward to land outside of her hands then shoots high into the air like a rocket. Back down again, hands to the floor and hops her feet back to the starting point. Bing. Bang. Boom. She makes it look so easy. I start with good form but as I continue, my push-up resembles more of a mountain shape, my rear end inching higher and higher like a periscope searching for ally ships come to rescue. Heaving and panting, I count reps with each squeak of my sneakers against the hardwood floor.

When will this be over!

Why am I doing this?

I put myself through this exercise a couple times a week, motivated partly out of vanity. I would like to look like this fitness model, to execute this exercise with consistently good form, and demonstrate my strength and agility. Surprisingly though, I have realized that I look forward to a workout, not for the vanity, but because when I do something physical with my body, it offers my brain a chance to shut off.

When I exercise, it is time for my mind to listen and not do the talking. I tune in to how my body is feeling and listen to what is physically challenging and what isn’t as hard today as it was yesterday. Stretching out a sore muscle and gently breathing deeper into the discomfort is a way of allowing my body to be acknowledged for the under-appreciated things it does every day.  My muscles seem to be thankful for the opportunity to work. My lungs are grateful to do their job of breathing in and out. It feels good to have blood pumping through my veins, and each drop of sweat is a hard earned nugget of euphoria; valuable because it is rare in my days filled with giving my all to my young family.

When my mind begins to reel off course and I begin to think way too much about the order in which I should shower, do laundry, write a grocery list, and the like, moving my body is often the missing component needed to restore balance to my well being.

I exercise to clear the mental fog and break up the cycle of overthinking everything.  Incidentally, I have found that when I offer my mind this kind of break each day, I end up having some of my best ideas. Like finding a dollar bill in the pocket of a pair of jeans I hadn’t worn (or washed) for a while, these good ideas are given to me without me having to search or strive hard to find them. Just as a passenger in a car gets to relax and take in the scenery while the driver remains alert to events unfolding on the road, my brain enjoys being the passenger instead of white-knuckling the steering wheel of decision making all the time. When my brain rests, creative thought comes bubbling up. That makes me happy because I thrive on creativity.

I love that this very physical practice fuels my creative life.

Establishing the habit of doing something physical every day helps me to be a better mother. I give my children a positive example of prioritizing a healthy lifestyle even though I may look silly and sort of pathetic as I do it. Knowing I am helping to instill in them healthy habits for their lifetime pushes me to work harder–both figuratively and literally–as they enjoy handing me heavier weights during my workouts. “Now do it again with this weight, Mom…it’s heavier!” You got it, Coach.  

So I lace up my sneakers every day. I’ve determined it is worthwhile for me to put up with looking like a dork with a periscope booty. I keep showing up for these workouts that help to center me and bring every last cent of determination to let my mind rest and allow my body to take control and move. Tomorrow I will be capable of more because of what I have struggled through today. I am stronger today than I was yesterday. Burpees, you bloody beasts, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Jennifer Van Winkle lives in Seattle with her husband and three children (twin boys and a baby girl).  She is a teacher, musician, and currently a stay-at-home mom.  She loves fueling the imaginations of her children with creativity, songs, all things science, good food and lots of play indoors and out.  She blogs at Pepper Sprout Home and you can also find her on Instagram.

Continue Reading

Acceptance (Childhood Cancer Awareness)
September 18, 2017 In Health & Nutrition Tender Topics 1 Comment

For the month of September, Kindred Mom is kicking off our New Mom Series with a focus on Pregnancy.  We are also covering the following topics: Routines & Habits for Success, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast resumes this month after a break in August. Subscribe in your favorite podcast app to stay up to date with new episodes as they release.

 

On March 30, 2012,  Caden (my first born) was diagnosed with cancer at three years old.  Pediatric oncologists explained that he had an aggressive form of childhood cancer: stage IV, high risk neuroblastoma, with a five year survival rate of less than 50%.  Neuroblasts are embryonic cells that develop into nerves, and in my baby boy, it may have been a single cell that didn’t develop properly and instead became cancerous.  Risk factors and causes of neuroblastoma are unknown.   In Caden, the tumors started in his adrenal gland and spread throughout his entire skeleton, and one tumor pushed on his brain.

For the first few weeks after diagnosis, I silently begged to wake up from the nightmare.  Endless questions of why and how swirled in my mind and prayers, and always ended with me thinking that Caden–my treasured little boy that I had fed high quality foods, sheltered from violent TV, gave plenty of time to sleep, protected from hazardous things, and spent a lot of time playing outdoors–could not possibly have cancer.  I struggled to accept our new reality.  I walked by pictures hanging on the wall of Caden before he got sick.  The photo taken of him swinging in the park, barefoot and carefree, just after his second birthday with nothing but pure blue sky in the background would always catch me.

No way. Look at that happy, healthy child.  Was cancer growing in his body then?  I just can’t believe this has happened to him.  What would our lives be like if cancer never entered it?

Most of the time now, I no longer think these thoughts. It doesn’t seem possible to wake up from this nightmare anymore.  I have given up on wondering why or how.  I know I’ll never know the answers to either of those questions this side of heaven.  I accept that my first born was full of cancer at the tender age of three.

However, I do not accept that childhood cancer treatment feels harsh, barbaric, and cruel, using chemotherapies and radiation created for adult cancers generations ago.  I will not accept that some childhood cancers have very grim prognoses.  I refuse to accept that children are getting far less than adults in terms of cancer research funding, with only 4% of the National Cancer Institute’s budget and 1% of the American Cancer Society’s, and very few pharmaceutical companies developing drugs for pediatric cancers.  All of these things are completely unacceptable.  Cancer is the leading cause of death by disease in children in the United States of America.  I will never be okay with what Caden has gone through.  What I have accepted is that this is a part of his life, our lives.  I never want it to define who he is and I’m tired of it consuming my every thought.  I accept what we have been handed, but I don’t like it.  Acceptance feels much better than denial.

During the first few months following his diagnosis, I focused on getting through the ridiculously long and intense treatment, hearing the words that my son no longer had cancer, and continuing on with our lives.  Marked by the experience, but victorious, grateful, driven, and optimistic.  I’m sure it wouldn’t have been that simple, even if Caden had sailed through treatment and had a terrific response, but that’s not how it went.

Caden had insane amounts of treatment; children can tolerate much higher levels of therapy than adults can.  Yet despite these treatments, his disease was reluctant to leave.  Even as recently as one month ago, neuroblastoma cells can still be found in Caden’s bone marrow.  I must accept and co-exist with the anxiety this creates.  I have to swallow this figurative pill I never wanted to take, just has my son has physically had to do so very many times.

Yet, not a day goes by that I don’t think about hope. When I was a kid, childhood leukemia was basically a death sentence.  Today, that is no longer the case. Each day, new discoveries are being made.  Unfortunately, even today, some pediatric cancers are terminal upon diagnosis, and not every kid diagnosed with leukemia is cured either, way too far from it, but somewhere along the line, incremental advances have been made.  Gradually, more kids are surviving.  It hasn’t been a light-bulb, instantaneous discovery.  I have hope for Caden that maybe the tide is shifting and he can be swept up as one of the lucky ones, but I have to accept the reality of his prognosis in one hand and the hope that lies in the other. I accept I have very little power to change the outcome.  I must walk forward with faith in miracles.  In some ways, the fact that he is here with us now is one.  Ten years ago, that might not have been the case.

I accept that our future is full of uncertainty.  I accept that when someone talks about graduations, Christmas, birthdays, weddings, I will always wonder if he will be there.  I accept that his life is not, and will not be easy.  He faces challenges other kids don’t have to, but he is remarkable.  He doesn’t have to stand out like an Olympian or Nobel Prize winner to be exceptional.  I accept that I will probably never be comfortable with the word “survivor”.  I accept that a part of his childhood was stolen away, but he has had infinite love and attention poured over him.  I accept the lessons I have learned along the way.  I accept our lives as they are – good and bad, highs and lows, and everything in between.

In honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, we would like to highlight the following organizations that Pam Shrauger supports:

 

 

**Donating blood is another non-financial way to help children fighting cancer.

Pam Shrauger is a wife and mom of two in Bozeman, Montana.  Though her college degree is in meteorology, she manages a construction business with her husband and tries to check the weather when she can.  She also loves the outdoors and volunteers as a Bible Study Fellowship group leader.  Her young son’s battle with cancer has created a lifelong passion for supporting childhood cancer research.

Continue Reading

A Child’s Life is Worth the Inconvenience
June 28, 2017 In Childhood Health & Nutrition No Comment

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes. 

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes! Also, read about our Summer Connection Groups and think about how you might reach out to mamas near you for intentional time together this summer!

The first time I went grocery shopping after my youngest son was diagnosed with food allergies, I spent three hours at the store and cried my way through the aisles. I read label after label, scanning for tree nuts, peanuts, and soy, becoming more discouraged as I went.

What is he going to eat?
How am I going to keep him safe?
Is it always going to be this hard?

In time, I realized I was going to have to do more cooking at home, including baked goods, snacks, and bread items. If it came from my kitchen, I could guarantee that he would eat safely and there would be no allergic reactions.

What I couldn’t control was what happened outside my front door. Every time he left home I feared what could happen. Would he make good choices at restaurants? Would he ask the right questions so the chefs understood what he could and could not eat?

The biggest challenge we faced was at his school. Our district has a combined middle/high school and in spite of “rules” against eating in the classroom, most teachers allow it. Lunch periods are short, some kids don’t bring a lunch, and the teachers don’t want the kids to go hungry. I get it, I really do. I want to feel sympathetic to all those situations and be the understanding parent, except I can’t.

Because I’ve had to race to the Emergency Room, both frantic with worry for my child and trying to remain hopeful in the medical doctors.

Will this reaction be worse than the last one?
Will the doctors be able to stop the reaction from progressing too far?
Everything will be okay…right?
Please, don’t let this be the reaction that takes his life.

At my son’s school, I heard about how students would take food he was allergic to and put it right up into his face. My son reported how classmates would eat items with peanuts and/or peanut butter, and then pass out folders – now possibly contaminated with nut oils – he had to hold during chorus class. He grumbled on about how they bullied him over his food allergies and made him feel like an outcast. In spite of his initial protests not to get involved, I became “that mom.” My mother bear instincts kicked in and I was consumed with keeping my child safe. I felt the school was failing him, and other less vocal students like him. If they weren’t going to protect him of their own accord, I was going to make them. I wrote emails and sent letters to the school, demanding that they keep peanut products–the most severe of my child’s allergies–out of the classrooms he spent his time in. I listed all the ways they were endangering my child, and how I was ready to pursue the issue all the way to the school board if I had to. It resulted in backlash from the school, and increased taunting from the kids.

Several of the teachers in the Fine and Performing Arts department posted a sign on the music room door in an attempt to keep the room nut-free. A parent of one of the band students complained to me that her child (and other students), sometimes ate their lunch in the hallway to comply with the nut-free rule, but the fact that they could no longer eat in the classroom caused them to miss out on instruction time. She made comments about how everything was “fine” the way it was before, and implied that other students shouldn’t be suffering from this inconvenience just because MY CHILD ( her emphasis added) had an allergy. She felt it was unfair.

It’s not fair, I agree. It’s not fair that my son can die because of the food he eats, or the food other people eat, because just breathing in peanut dust or having peanut oil near him can cause a severe reaction. It’s not fair that for the rest of his life he has to be diligent about where he goes, what he does, and how he interacts with people just to stay alive.

I wanted to vocalize all of these things to that mother, to make her understand how awful I felt about the whole situation. I wanted to tell her that I understood her frustrations and that I agreed with her. I wanted to tell her how upset I was with the students who were putting my son in potentially life-endangering positions, with the school for not doing more to keep him safe, and with myself for having to disrupt the learning of her child and others. But I couldn’t. Anger and fear were fighting a raging battle within my heart, and with my son’s life at stake, I couldn’t find the words.

Before I was a mother of a child with food allergies, I was not aware of how the choices I made each day when sending a packed lunch or snacks to school with my children could potentially harm another child. As Maya Angelou said, “When you know better, you do better.” The more I learned about food allergies, the more I was able to help my son make better choices for himself, and to help educate his peers about the choices they made when they would be spending time with him and near him. As a young adult, he is now able to advocate for himself, and his friends do not hesitate to ask him questions about what they are planning to eat and if it safe for him to be near, or if a food they ate earlier in the day will cause him to have a reaction.

Through visits with the allergy doctor, discussions with other moms of children with food allergies, and by reading resources from organizations such as Food Allergy Research and Education (FARE) I am able to make better choices when bringing a food item to an event. I make sure it is free of the top 8 allergens, so that it can be enjoyed by a majority of people, as well as including a list of ingredients. I also make a note that lets others know my food is prepared in a home free of several of the common allergens, and list those as well. Being the mom of a child with food allergies has made me more aware of how difficult it is for people who have limited diets to safely eat at social events. In addition to advocating for more awareness of food allergies, I try to set an example for others in how to meet the needs of those with special diets.

When my son was still in high school, it eased my mind when other parents contacted me ahead of time about food they would be serving at functions and asked questions about ingredients they weren’t sure about. I love when family members check in with me before social events about what kinds of food they can serve that my son can safely eat. These simple gestures make a person with food allergies feel loved and included, and help build the community of allies.

Beth Richardson is a writer of creative nonfiction with too many hobbies, who is currently distracted from her work by pursuing a college degree. With her husband and two young adult sons, she lives in southwest New Hampshire where she blogs about organized living, self care, and bullet journaling at justplainbeth.com, and on Instagram.  

Continue Reading


Page 1 of 2