Am I "More Than a Body?"

Two months ago I was on a road trip from one end of Utah to the other (without my three older kids), so of course I did what I always do - call every one of my mom friends to see if anyone can talk on the phone. This time it was Anna, and we got talking about how I've still been struggling with postpartum depression. For the last five months, I've been dealing with feeling tired, sad, and overwhelmed by eating more than my body needs, and consequently, gaining weight. It's funny how you think you're a hot shot in the self-love category until you become the heaviest you've ever been and all of a sudden are not feeling so "in love with yourself" anymore. I feel like I'm usually pretty good at being able to manage my thoughts when I feel negatively about my body or other aspects of myself, but for some reason it feels impossible right now. Each little intrusive thought becomes quickly insidious, like a drop that creates a rippling effect of self deprecation. And the more I see the ripples and reach out to try and smooth them, the more my hands flounder and create waves that seem to nearly drown me. It's an endless cycle of trying to fix myself and then hide from myself again.

I didn't get this specific when Anna and I were on the phone, but I did tell her about gaining weight and feeling frustrated with myself. She told me about a book she recently read called More Than a Body - Your Body Is an Instrument, Not an Ornament by Lindsay and Lexie Kite. About a week after our phone conversation, it ended up in my mailbox (a surprise package from my sweet friend.)

It's been taking me a minute to get through the book. As I like to joke, I'm making it through about one book a year at the rate I'm reading these days. But however slow, I can tell that it's waking me up to new ways of thinking. As a woman in the world today, I sincerely feel like there are so many forces at work that have the goal of convincing us that we never look good enough. As America Ferrera's character Gloria poignantly monologued in the Barbie Movie, "It is literally impossible to be a woman. You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don't think you're good enough. Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow we're always doing it wrong. You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin," and on and on. And she hit the nail on the head - there will always be a company, a product, an instagram reel (is that what they're called?), another human, ready to tell you one more thing to fix so that you look better. When you're striving to look a certain perfect way, there is no winning.

This book is helping me see how consistently I objectify myself, which seems so weird to admit because when I hear the word "objectify" I usually think of the way one person sees another, but to objectify means to "degrade to the status of a mere object," and I'm definitely doing plenty of that. For however long I can remember, I've been objectifying myself every single day when I walk past a reflective surface. Every time I dance, walk down the sidewalk, or sit in church. In so many instances I'm living outside of my own body, picturing what I look like to the people around me. I hope to be an ornament, decorating my surroundings and bringing visual pleasure to the eyes that fall on me. I always hope I look fit, stylish, feminine, strong, slender and curvy in the "right" places, and sexy (depending on the setting). And this strange objectification of myself leaves me constantly living outside of myself, often paying a lot more attention to how I look than how I feel INSIDE my own body, which disconnects me from myself and leaves me desperately clinging to a fragile and highly-conditional version of self esteem.

For a long time I've thought that striving to feel beautiful and help others feel beautiful, regardless of "physical flaws," was the key to feeling confident and happy. But what I'm learning is that focusing on my looks will never lead me to the contentment I truly seek, which comes from an unconditional love for myself; TRULY believing that my value as a woman/human/daughter of God is intrinsic, and that nothing I do can or will increase or decrease that value. The Kite sisters declare that "the truth is, when we stop giving beauty the power to make us, we take away its power to break us."

Until this experience with gaining weight and seeing my body change in ways that I judge myself for, I never realized how much my enjoyment in activities hinges on feeling like I look good. Invitation to go swimming? Yes, because I get excited about looking hot in my swim suit. Dirty dancing class? Absolutely, gonna go twerk in those booty shorts. I'm grateful to myself that I've continued to go out and live, despite not feeling as awesome about how I look, but it's still been challenging.

In essence, the way to break free is to shift our focus from the way our bodies look to the things our bodies can do and what we're physically experiencing. How does the wind feel against my face when I'm outside on a walk? What emotions come up when I hold Violet close and smell her sweet baby hair? Do I appreciate how my strong legs can hold up an eight-year-old for another round of airplane? How beautifully connected do I feel to Truman when we're making love and all I'm thinking about is us, right there in that moment? Although it feels so hard right now, I have faith that practicing these shifts in perspective can and will eventually help me rewrite the way I'm living. I've been "overweight" and unhappy, and I've also been very "thin" and unhappy, which is evidence to me that my happiness has little to do with my perception of how I look.

I believe that another important avenue to this higher path is to disrupt the usual conversations that revolve around physical appearance. For instance, if someone says something about how good you look when you've lost weight, you can respectfully respond with something like, "I appreciate that because I believe you mean it as a compliment, but I'm actually doing a lot of work to not focus so much on my appearance. Want to join me?" There are SO many ways to compliment someone, and when we take a moment to get uncomfortable and think harder, we have the opportunity to show someone they're valued for something other than their physical appearance. (Disclaimer: I don't think complimenting someone on their looks is wrong. I feel like God has given us so many cool ways to be creative through avenues like fashion, hair, and makeup. I am coming to believe, however, that body compliments specifically may actually create more harm than good as they support objectification. Take it or leave it.)

The bummer is, at least for now, nearly every moment of every day feels like a constant obsession to lose weight. It seems like every spare thought I have is about what I eat, what I don't eat, why my body has more fat than I want it to, how most of my clothes are too tight, and just "giving in" and eating whatever I want to try to counter the obsessing. I can tell that my ability to manage these thoughts is far less effective than usual, and I'm hoping that therapy and some medication changes, along with daily effort, will help things get better.

It's almost comical because I find myself thinking "really, this again?" It seems like I gotta figure out this food and body stuff over and over and over in this life. And sometimes I just feel really annoyed about that. But in other moments I see glimmers of who I'm beautifully becoming, and I recognize that these heart-wrenching struggles are the only way to get there. There are so many times in my life where I've looked back and thought "wow, I can't believe I made it through that. I thought I actually might die." And it's amazing to see how undeniably true it was that those rough waters were the perfect setting for extraordinary growth. So for now, I'm going to faithfully follow Dory's advice and just keep swimming. 

Violet’s Birth Story

    In our dimly lit room, I awkwardly rolled over to look at the clock for what seemed like the 5,000th time. 10 pm. The familiar feeling of uncertainty washed over me as I rested my hands on my belly and felt the next wave of a contraction. I took a slow, deep breath and then got out of bed.

I went into the front room, sat down with a laundry basket full of clothes, and started folding. Truman was on the phone with his best friend Joe and paused to ask me if I was having contractions. I told him “yes” and that they weren’t super close together, but that they seemed more intense than usual. At 10:30p I decided to text Cyndi (my midwife) to see if she was still awake - she was. We texted back and forth a few times trying to gauge if I was in active labor. I also texted Lindsey (my friend) to see if she was awake and give her a heads-up that tonight might be the night. In the meantime, I decided we should start setting things up in case this was the real deal. Truman and I began getting supplies out and he inflated the birthing tub.

As I was moving around getting things ready, I tried to listen closely to my body and prayed for discernment to know if I was really in labor. Over the past two weeks, there had been multiple times where I experienced consistent contractions for hours at a time, one of the times through an entire night. On two different occasions, I asked Truman for priesthood blessings during which he prayed for me to be blessed with patience and rest. These were intimate experiences that helped me feel love and peace. I tried to move through each day at the end of my pregnancy with faith that I'd know when it was time. On this night, as we continued to get the house prepared, I could tell that the contractions were getting stronger. I felt slightly nervous, very excited, and incredibly peaceful all at the same time.

At 11:03p, I texted Cyndi and told her I was convinced it was go-time and that I wanted her and Gina (the birthing assistant) to come over. At 11:18p, she texted me back to tell me she’d be there in about a half hour. I also text Lindsey again to tell her things were progressing and asked her to come soon.

Gina arrived first and walked into my bathroom while I was putting on makeup and doing my hair in a high messy bun. She giggled and teased me, but I told her that being in labor was no reason to not look fabulous. She also used the Doppler to check baby girl’s heartbeat, and Cyndi arrived just after that. I put on the outfit I had planned to labor in and then I realized that this was really it - the experience I had been intentionally and joyfully preparing for over the past eight months. 

At this point, the contractions were getting intense enough that I needed to focus and breathe through them. I tried to sit on a birthing ball, but it wasn’t comfortable, so instead I knelt on the ground and rested my arms and chest over the ball. With each contraction, I inhaled and exhaled slowly while counting, just like I’d practiced every night while falling asleep. In between contractions, I would sometimes look up to talk with the others in the room, or sometimes I’d just keep my eyes closed and relax. I remember seeing Truman resting on the couch and thinking, “This is exactly what I wanted it to be.” He looked serene and seemed completely at peace. In part, I attribute that to the bowl of Lucky Charms he'd eaten a few minutes before - that stuff really is magical.

We started our marriage off with an extra adventure when we conceived a baby a week after our wedding. We decided to find the humor in this happy surprise since it went right along with the very short timeline of our courtship (exactly three months from first date to wedding day). When I found out I was pregnant I was honestly nervous to tell Truman. We had decided that we'd like to have a child together but that we wanted to wait a while. I'll never forget sitting on the couch next to him, working up the courage, and being completely taken aback as he cracked up for at least thirty seconds straight. It was such a tender experience as he embraced me and told me how thrilled he was. That's Truman for you in a nutshell - always loving me so hard and finding the good in everything. When I started on the task of prenatal care, I already knew that I wanted to have a home birth with a midwife. Even though this was foreign to Truman, he so quickly trusted and supported me. He asked questions, attended prenatal appointments, and mentally prepared so that we could have our little girl at home. And in that moment during labor when I saw him resting calmly on the couch, I was filled with so much joy.

As the contractions seemed to grow stronger I remember thinking “I hope Lindsey gets here soon.” When I heard the door open a few minutes later I felt a flood of relief. I looked up at her smiling face and felt so much comfort and love. Later I found out that she arrived just after 12a. She came to where I was on the floor and we talked about how the labor had been so far. I remember needing to pause to breathe through an intense contraction and realizing how far into labor I was. I knew this feeling well after having three other babies unmedicated - the discomfort growing so intense at the top of the wave that I had to focus on counting, breathing, and coaxing my body to relax and embrace the pain instead of fighting against it. I remember picturing my uterus muscle fibers contract and telling myself that each of these waves was helping the baby move down. Around this time Gina checked the baby’s heart rate again.

The birthing tub was set up and full of warm water. I had heard from other women that getting in the tub too early in labor could slow things down, and I wanted to avoid that. I asked Cindy what she recommended and she said that she wasn’t timing my contractions, but as long as there was an established pattern then it shouldn’t be an issue. I decided that the labor was intense enough that I was ready to get in. I took everything off except my bra and stepped in. The water seemed to support and caress me as I knelt down and rested my arms and head against the edge. I liked being here, not just because I was physically comfortable, but also because I was closer to Truman now. At one point I held his hand and knew I had everything I needed.

I continued to breathe through each contraction and asked Truman to add some hot water to the tub. I remember feeling my fingers grip the soft plastic of the pool at the highest intensity of each wave of labor. I felt the acute juxtaposition of my body’s intense physical state and very relaxed mental state. I felt aware of everything going on inside me, almost like stepping outside and watching myself but still feeling the sensations. I was both completely aware and also in a dream-like state. Without thinking, I looked up at Truman at some point and said, “This is the part where you feel like your body is going to die, and then the baby is born.” Not long after that, I said something to Cyndi and she asked me to repeat myself (I’m pretty sure I mumbled. Ha ha). So I said again, “I’m pretty sure she’s going to be born in the new few contractions. Not right away, but soon.”

I felt the energy in the room shift. Even though my eyes were closed and I was focused on my body, I could hear Cindy getting ready and people quietly moving around. A few contractions later I tested out the feeling to push, and it seemed like my body and the baby were ready. I sat up on my knees and pushed with the next contraction and I felt a burst (which I later realized was my water breaking because I heard Cyndi say there was meconium). As the next contraction came I held my hands down near my thighs and pushed. I felt her head come into my hands, a pause, and then I was able to push the rest of her body out. Cyndi told me to lift her up to my chest, but as I lifted her from the water Cyndi realized the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. I lowered her back down to the surface of the water as Cyndi unwrapped her, and then I brought the baby to my chest and laid back against the edge of the tub. This particular moment, resting with my brand new baby against me, was serenely divine. I didn’t feel exhausted or dazed - just gently and perfectly aware of my body against hers. I felt the presence of God.

Everything I had hoped and prayed for over the last eight months unfolded before me. Two days previous to this, I was texting McKenna (my long-time bestie) and telling her how I was struggling physically and mentally with all of the prelabor contractions. In the past, I likely would have gone into the hospital and consequently had my water broken to “speed things up.” Early on in my pregnancy with Baby Violet, I felt spiritually prompted to experience labor with absolutely no intervention (which included letting my water break on its own). Because my previous labors were all similar and predictable once my water was broken, the choice to not intervene this time felt uncomfortable and very faith-oriented for me. On this particular day, I was feeling so worn out - I had been up for hours the night before with contractions, but in the morning there was no baby and I still had a full day of work, kids, and other responsibilities to attend to despite the fatigue. In her wisdom, McKenna validated my feelings and talked me up, as she always does. And then she reminded me, “I think God knows the desires of your heart with this baby and you’ll be blessed.” Neither of us quite knew how right she was. One of the biggest differences with this labor compared to the three before was the frequency of the contractions. The previous times, once my water was broken, the contractions quickly got intense and there seemed to be no relief in between. It basically felt like contractions, one on top of the other, for 2 ½ hours until the baby was born. I managed it every time, but in the end, when each baby finally emerged, I was so intensely fatigued that I didn’t feel mentally present enough to fully enjoy the moment because the physical relief was my main focus.

But this time was different. During active labor, the contractions grew to be as strong as every other labor, but there was noticeable time in between each wave. These breaks allowed me to rest, prepare, and check in with myself. And in the end, when I delivered my child with my own hands and held her tiny body to mine, I was fully and beautifully there with her.

Early on in my pregnancy, Alexa (age 8) expressed interest in being present at the birth. A lot of thought and prayer went into preparing her to be there if she decided she wanted to be. Her dad and I also had so many conversations about it, and ultimately we decided this would be a great opportunity to teach her about pregnancy, labor, and birth, even if she didn't end up being there. A few minutes before Violet was born I told Lindsey it was time to wake Alexa. After a few minutes, Lindsey came back and said, “I was able to wake her up and tell her that the baby was going to be born soon and asked if she wanted to come see or sleep, and she said she wanted to sleep. Then I asked if she wanted me to wake her up after the baby was born and she said yes.” 

Shortly after Violet was born, we moved to the couch, delivered the placenta, and then Lindsey woke Alexa up again. It was so sweet to have her there so soon after the baby was born. I could tell Alexa was tired (it was likely around 1:30a at this point), but she seemed to enjoy her time with the baby. We also recounted the first conversation between her and Lindsey, but she said she didn’t remember it at all. She got emotional when we told her it was time to go to bed. We did our best to explain that ALL of us needed rest and were going to go to sleep.

The entire experience literally felt like heaven. It was peaceful and divine and special in every way I ever could have hoped for. It’s interesting to me that even though Truman and I didn’t plan this pregnancy, I can’t image my life or our family without this sweet little girl. The next morning, when Libby woke up and walked into our room, I told her that we had a surprise. I’ll never forget the way her sleepy face lit up when she climbed onto the bed and saw a baby laying next to me. Violet joined our family so seamlessly; like a sweet secret coming to earth in the stillness of the night. And she is direct evidence that God loves us in beautiful and mysterious ways.