The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

It’s that time of year—Prom! From the dress to the shoes and hair to makeup, it all has to be discussed, tried out, redone and then Instagramed. For most girls, it’s not who you’re taking; it’s what you’re wearing, and making sure nobody has the same dress. That’s why as soon as we found a dress, my daughter got on her friend’s Facebook pages to make sure nobody else had it.

Luckily for me and my daughter’s sanity, the dress was a hit and nobody else had it. After she quickly posted it, the question came up about shoes. You wouldn’t think something so small could be that difficult, but for women it is. For me, it was all about comfort; but for my daughter, it was making sure the heels wouldn’t make her taller than her date. Try getting into that psyche!

I kept reminding her that she was only sixteen and Jessica Simpson’s 5 inch platforms for $100 weren’t going to last on her feet for more than an hour; and then there would be the pre-party and after party, which by the way – will both be held at my house (I am surely turning into my mother!).

My daughter really wanted heels, and so every time she liked a pair, I made her walk around the store in them. It was really funny, I’ll admit. Watching her stand there with her head held up and back straight in a perfect still position. Then, when I asked her to walk , he heels turned in, her hands flared out to stay balanced, and her facial expression tried to look poised. It was definitely a scene from “What Not to Wear.”

Every shoe she tried on that was 4 inches or higher, in her mind, was a contender for prom night. In my mind, reality check and the person paying the bill, was trying saying, “Heck No!” I love my daughter and I want her to be happy, but Mommy knows best.

It was a hilarious scene at the shoe department; me showing her flats and wedges and her giving me a look—”old lady shoes!” By some miracle, she finally agreed on a pair of wedges with a peep toe. I pointed out the obvious—with a long dress nobody would see the entire shoe anyway. But in her imagination she wanted to be Hilary Duff in A Cinderella Story. I could see it, and this is what years of sitting with my daughter watching reruns of Disney movies has given me—a small tap into my daughter’s head.

Somehow I managed to get my daughter to do a 180 degree turn and buy a pair of wedges. She admitted they would be comfortable and more practical. I was beaming inside. How could this be possible? My head strong daughter who admittedly resents authority is listening to me and doing the sensible thing! Love it!

Written by Jane Khoury
Born and raised in San Francisco
Graduated in SF State in Marketing and Computer Information Systems
Two brothers, one older and one younger, and we are always in touch
Married to Sam with four children
Hobbies: tennis, golf, volunteer, volunteer, volunteer, trying to sit down and read a good book
Favorite tv shows: Smash, Biggest Loser, GCB, Desperate Housewives, and Seinfeld
Favorite pass time: going to Giants games
Secret Crush: Tom Hanks
Geek Side: loves to talk computers

I just wiggled out of bed. As I write this, I am in my bedroom listening to my two-and-a-half-year-old son, Ry, snoring away and my soon-to-be six month old daughter, Sophia, sound asleep.

I must first disclose that I am the product of a family who shared their space, and I continue to share my space with my husband and children. The reason for the disclosure is a personal choice which I must say is not talked about as much as I believe it should be. I wish there was a way to just openly say, “We all sleep in the same room, share our bed with our kids, and would not have it any other way.”

I share this because I want to be the voice that tells other mommies and daddies out there to be proud of sharing your bed with your kids, sharing the intimate moments of silence together and to relish the beauty of the bonds made while the family sleeps. I am not here to judge, or to shove suggestions on how to share your space. I definitely respect and admire the personal decisions parents make for their children and themselves, but I am simply writing about the decision my husband and I have made to share our space and our experience.

Within the past ten years, I have studied and put into practice some of the psychological theories I learned through the Master’s Clinical Psychology/Marital Family Therapy program I completed at Notre Dame de Namur University, and as a Therapist in private practice. I will be the first to say that until giving birth to Ry, I didn’t know exactly where he would sleep or how I would approach this controversial subject.  And now, after witnessing how our son has developed, emotionally and mentally, and noting how much we have grown as a family, we decided to continue to share our space with Sophia when she was born. All the opposing theories and suggestions from medical journals or statistics mentioning the risks of sleeping with your children cannot sway me to do anything else but what feels right for my family, and continue to share my space with them.

I remember my son bonding with Sophia in my belly because he slept next to me, because he was part of the process, and because he watched her grow. He would sing her songs while she was in my belly and it was the most amazing “first meeting” of siblings I have ever witnessed. I have to share that the only time Ry has not slept within my reach was when I went into the hospital to deliver Sophia. He slept over my parent’s house for the first time the night Sophia was born and another night after, while we were still at the hospital. He came to the hospital the morning she was born and was immediately proud to be a Big Brother, introducing her to other family members, and really sharing his most prized possessions, his parents, with his new sister.

I believe it is because we shared our space and made him part of the process that he absolutely loves his sister and wants to be there for her as he did when she was in my belly. I know that there will be times in their lives, as siblings, where they will argue and quarrel, but I do hope they look back and remember the great moments they shared with each other snuggled up in our bed – late at night, and early mornings being particularly sweet. Of course, I will have pictures to remind them!  At times, I would step out of the room to use the restroom or to grab a drink of water, and come back and Ry would be holding Sophia’s hand, both asleep, just wanting the closeness.

I cannot ignore the positive and most memorable moments thus far, that sharing my space has brought to me, my children and my husband.  There are times when Ry and his Daddy will talk in their sleep, like a mini conversation through rhythmic snoring and the occasional laugh followed by another mini laugh.

It may appear that sharing my space came naturally, but I had to learn how to share my space. And while some may judge me through the filters given to them either by culture or by our society, try not to judge my character or my children. I am only doing what we are taught to do living with others, especially those we love, and that is to share our lives with them.

One thing is for certain, this is only my experience and our family’s choice to share our space, and I only hope that this opens up a dialogue to share the amazing possibilities and/or memories that have come about by sharing your space with your children. Thinking about it, people often share their bed and rooms with their pets; why not allow our children the same security and opportunity? If by any chance you are able to share your space with your children, even if it is camping out in your living room, sleeping together on the couch after a movie or even just camping out in their room, with their permission of course, those are priceless moments no words can begin to describe.

I write this as a proud daughter, wife, mommy and friend who has learned the true meaning of sharing.

You’re trapped! You can’t imagine getting out of that dark place of despair and desperation. The walls are closing in. To make matters worse, people are telling you “Congratulations, you must be so happy!”  Your guilt for feeling the exact opposite silences your screams and so you just nod and say thank you. What else are you supposed to do? How can you say what you really feel?

This is what I experienced after the birth of my first child. When my son was about two weeks old, I started having intense feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought my life was over and couldn’t believe what I just done. I ruined my life. A lot of my feelings were unfairly directed at my husband. I took my anxiety, and anger out on him. I couldn’t be with him. Feeling that I had to escape my “life”, I fled my house. I took my son and moved in with my mom. I would lie awake all night with my heart pounding, my body sweating. It felt like time was standing still. The clock seemed frozen, just like me. I was in utter despair. Each minute was torture. I didn’t want to do any of the things normal people do. Taking a shower was a big deal. I took care of my son because I had to not because I wanted to. I had no maternal connection to my son, for he was the one who had gotten me into this mess.

This wasn’t my first exposure to mental illness. My identical twin sister had severe postpartum depression and anxiety after her daughter was born. Years before that my mother went through a very debilitating mental illness after my father was diagnosed with colon cancer. Even though I was witness to my mother and sisters recoveries, I truly felt my situation was different and I would never get out this. When you are in it, it doesn’t matter how many times people tell you “things will get better”.  You know, or so you think you do, the truth, “Life sucks and I am trapped.”

I remember my Mom going to her morning tennis match and thinking, “Mom, what the f*** are you doing? How can you go about your normal business? I am in crisis here.  How can you just go on as if nothing is wrong when everything is wrong?” In hindsight, my mom was just following advice she received on caring for a loved one with PPD. She was taking care of herself.

One day she made me go with her to Trader Joes. I had a huge panic attack and freaked out. I saw all these people in their daily routine and wanted to scream at the top of my lungs – STOP! Everyone stop what they are doing. Don’t you get it?

On my road to recovery, one of the first things I did, with my mother’s help, was contact a psychiatrist. Not only was professional help crucial but the support of my friends and family was invaluable. I had the benefit of two people, my mom and sister, who loved me dearly and who knew first-hand what I was going through. I also had the benefit of a very loving, supportive, and forgiving husband; otherwise I don’t know if my marriage would have survived. I had girlfriends that I could really talk to – to whom I could tell my deepest, darkest secrets.

My message to you is this – Don’t be silent. Ask for and accept help. Don’t be shy about telling people your story – don’t let fear or guilt stand in the way. While you have to do work to get better, you can’t “do” your life alone. Surround yourself with people in your life who will push you to take that shower, go to the gym, and take a walk outside, even if you hate them for it in the moment.

My family pushed me to do the things I needed to do to get better. For example, exercise has always been important in keeping me grounded. During this time, my family insisted I go to the gym each day. I remember the feeling of resistance I had. Simple things were just too much for me. But there was a glimmer of a feeling, deep inside myself, that I needed to go.

In addition to professional help and an invaluable support system, medication was part of my recovery. Yes, the “M” word. Not only is there the stigma, but also the concern, of taking medication. Does it mean I can’t breastfeed? If I don’t breastfeed, am I bad mother? With the support of my family and the advice of my doctor, I chose to breastfeed while on the medication. Not only that but I continued taking it through my second pregnancy. Deep down it was the necessary choice for me. I feel fortunate that my body responded well to the medication.

I would say it was a full year of recovery. The silver lining is that after the birth of my second child I remained healthy and was able to experience that first year of life in such a different way. I cherished each moment and lived in pure gratitude.

I will be ever grateful if, by telling my story, I have helped another Mother. I am inspired by the growth in available resources, and the increasing knowledge and acceptance of mental illness associated with postpartum.

A few resources you might find useful are:

Maternal Outreach Mood Services at El Camino Hospital

SVPPD – an email group for those affected by a postpartum mood disorder

http://www.jennyslight.org/

And remember, speak out!

Stacey Holmes grew up on the peninsula and lives in San Carlos with her husband and two children. A year ago she started a parenting newsletter for her son’s school and is enjoying writing about her Mommy experiences. She finds writing cathartic. Currently a stay-at-home mom she knows her work “outside the home” is by no means done. She believes in the power of mantras and the importance of breathing.