In a Word: Expect
Welcome to In a Word, a newsletter that cultivates thoughtfulness, one word at a time. If a friend forwarded you this email, click here to subscribe:
Since entering my third trimester, my ability to handle stress is shot.
On one of the hottest days of summer so far, my daughter was dragging her feet in the parking lot outside our building. I stood there baking in the sun, first telling: no I can’t carry you and your scooter and hold the dog’s leash with this belly, and then begging: will you please hurry up and come inside.
While I physically kept herding this small band of lovable, maddening creatures inside, emotionally I left myself sitting on the asphalt crying. Thoughts like, “I don’t think I will make it parenting through my third trimester in this heat,” and “I can’t do this,” pulsed behind my eyes, even as a disembodied voice of logic also said, “you know this is irrational, right?”
Of course I know, LINDA. (The no-nonsense voice in my head is definitely a Linda.) But what matters in these moments of overwhelm isn’t what I know, but what I feel and the Lindas have no power here.
I’ve had similar reactions a few more times, when a hard moment hits and I forecast all the similar hard moments like it to come. I’m sure Linda would say, “you will get through those moments the same way you are getting through this one, one breath at a time,” but again, these are not moments for reason. Or breathing, for that matter.
When I had a level ten meltdown over a scheduling conflict in the same week that I started crying because “I will never be pregnant with Betsy again,” it occurred to me that maybe this is hormone-related. I texted a friend at the same stage of pregnancy to ask if she finds herself less able to, you know, deal right now and she replied instantly: OMG yes.
And then I remembered similar soaring anxiety around this time with my last pregnancy. Ah, yes. What’s happened is that my brain has been hijacked- unfortunately not by Linda, who would be cool as a cucumber. Linda is only available to me in air-conditioned spaces, when I am hydrated and well-rested, and my life right now is more of sun-drenched, wake-up-to-pee-six-times-a-night zone.
I keep blaming my stress spirals on hormones. Some people have cute reactions to hormones: gently weeping at insurance commercials, or meticulously decorating a nursery. Mine are more…macabre: dark dreams, morbid fears about the demise of my family. My nesting instinct is limited to a deep desire to wrap everyone I love in bubble wrap.
It’s a common refrain, to blame women’s hormones for “crazy” thoughts or behaviors. (It’s worth noting that I’ve never heard anyone blame a man hitting a wall with his fist or acting apoplectic behind the wheel on hormones, though there is undoubtedly a lot of adrenaline and testosterone at play there.) We are all affected by our hormones, pregnant women more than most. But I wonder how it would change our perspective if we didn’t think of hormones as hijacking our true selves, but as part of ourselves?
In the creative process, Elizabeth Gilbert encourages people to invite fear along for the ride, but not to let it drive. Fear is allowed to say its peace. Denying its existence is futile; handing it the keys is fatal.
Similar to letting fear ride in the back, what would it be like to acknowledge our hormones as messengers with information rather than enemy intruders? While there are hormone imbalances that sometimes need correcting, mostly hormones are doing their jobs as much as our lungs and hearts.*
Perhaps lately, hormone surges are causing me to react with heightened intensity to stressors. I can blame them as outsiders, not the “real me,” and I have. But when I stopped to reflect (in the air conditioning, with Linda, after a snack) I realized that the overwhelm isn’t about the stressful moments, but my future capacity. What if I can’t do this?
This is a recurring fear of mine, developed during formative teenage years when lupus flare ups would suddenly zap my energy and knock me out. I haven’t had a serious flare up in over a decade, but the fear of reduced capacity endures.
I was under general anesthesia for my daughter’s birth, incapacitated and unconscious for her first breath. Both our lives were starkly and completely out of my hands. Even if her birth had gone “according to plan,” all the unknowns of impending birth and parenthood put us in a precarious position. Children multiply your love and with it, your vulnerability. The force of this love almost knocks the wind out of me sometimes.
So maybe it isn’t so irrational that my mind jumps to fear when I am on the precipice of multiplying my vulnerability once more, with another new baby. It is the honor and terror of a lifetime to love someone this much.
Maybe the parking lot breakdown over my energy levels and capacity to care for my family are pointing to the very real fact that I don’t have the capacity to assure their wellbeing. I do not relish acknowledging this, but I am a more whole, grateful, present person when I do.
At the heart of overreactions, fears, and intense, sudden feelings is valuable information about what really matters to me. It’s like my central nervous system and brain chemistry grab me by the shirt collar so that I pay attention, no matter what Linda says. Maybe hormones aren’t enemy intruders, but insightful messengers underscoring the breathtaking beauty of this vulnerable life I hold but don’t control.
*As a mental health professional in training, I am compelled to say that intrusive thoughts about harming yourself or your baby do need intervention, as does anxiety that interferes with your ability to function. Please reach out to someone if you find yourself here.
In this issue, you’ll find a supplement, a pregnancy book, a guided journal, a children’s book, two great novels, and of course, a benediction.
I loved Natural Calm years ago but got out of the habit of using it. Seems like a good time to start again, huh?? Magnesium is supposed to help alleviate anxiety, and may help with the leg cramping that happens in late pregnancy, too. *insert not medical advice disclaimer here*
Expecting Better is my go-to pregnancy book, again. (I got the updated version.) Emily Oster cuts through the noise and moralizing and mom guilt landmines with data.
Next Right Thing Guided Journal: Based on the principles in her book The Next Right Thing, Emily P. Freeman created this journal that helps you think and plan for a season (or quarter, if you prefer to think of it that way) and take notes monthly to reflect along the way. I love this journal. It has given me just enough structure to temper my expectations, and take notes on how life is unfolding. She provides prompts like: “what was life draining/life giving? What do you hope for? These are the days of…”
I kickstarted my summer reading with some fabulous novels:
Gold Diggers was so refreshingly unexpected I don’t want to even describe it a little. Just read it. One review actually called it, “stunningly original.”
Who is Maud Dixon? is a page-turner full of twists I didn’t see coming. Perfect if you need something that will really hold your attention.
Betsy has been loving this picture book, Mr. Tiger Goes Wild. When Mr. Tiger flouts certain societal expectations to be more himself, he gives others in his community permission to do the same.
Whatever I expected when I turned on what I thought was a comedy special, it wasn’t this. If you haven’t seen it yet, an excerpt:
May we find joy in unexpected delights and grounding in unforeseen sorrows.
As always, I’d love to hear what this issue calls to mind for you! Simply respond to this email to share your thoughts with me.
Gratefully, Jacey
If you like In a Word, please share it!
Forward this email to a friend, or take a screenshot of your favorite part to share on Instagram.