The TRUTH About Motherhood

Author: Deborah Cruz

Every Child is a Choice
People like to say that a child is not a choice but I think that’s a lie. I think every single child is a choice. But the reader board at my children’s school screams loudly that a child is not a choice. I get it. They are pro-life. Being Catholic, I’ve seen the words a thousand times but I never really knew the weight of those words; not personally. They are the self-righteous indignation of people who’ve never had to make “that” choice. Children should not have to think about whether or not they were a choice. It bothers me that those words greet my children upon their arrival at school every morning because my children were never a choice for me, they were always a blessing. I always knew that I wanted to be a mother.
I’ve always spoken openly about my belief in a woman’s right to choose.The woman in question making the choice was always some theoretical woman in some hypothetical situation that resulted in an unwanted or unplanned pregnancy. I never thought I would have to consider those words, to be in a position to make a choice about my own child.
I’m not going to shock you with a story from my youth about how I found myself in a bad way after a night of young love or how too much alcohol at a frat party left me to make the most difficult choice if my life. No. That never happened. Though it does, all the time. I won’t tell you a story of being molested by a family friend only to find myself 13 years old with nowhere to turn and no one to believe me. That never happened either. But it does. I won’t tell you of a break in during the middle of the night where a stranger forced himself on a young woman across the world from her family, terrorized her before beating her and using her for his own pleasure and her defeat, before leaving her for dead only to find herself carrying her assailant’s baby. That never happened. But it does, every day. These women and so many more have a right to their choice.
What brought me to my choice was less sensational but still the most difficult decision I ever had to contemplate. When we found out that I was pregnant with our last baby, the sweet baby that I miscarried, we were not expecting to be pregnant. It was not planned. We were living with my in laws, confined to only a bedroom’s worth of personal space. I was 39 and all I could think of were 1000 reasons why being pregnant at almost 40 was a terrible idea. My biggest fear was that there would be something genetically wrong with the baby and if I were to die in 30 or 40 years, who would take care of that baby. But there was one overwhelming reason to have that baby, from the moment I knew I was pregnant, I was completely in love with this child and all that he could be and do.
I remember after a brief moment of pure joy after seeing our baby on the monitor the doctor began rattling off potential threats to the pregnancy and saying things like advanced maternal age and preparing me for genetic testing at week 11 to make sure everything was “ok” and talk of amniocentesis to know if we wanted to continue with the pregnancy. It all became white noise, the soundtrack of terror, as my heart sank and fear set in. What if I failed this child? The Big Guy and I left the appointment in shock and fear and it was all tinged with sadness. For a moment, it felt more like a tribulation than a celebration.
We went to lunch to discuss the inevitable. What should we do? We discussed all the possible outcomes and I was angry; angry that I had to even consider anything other than just having this baby. I was mad at a world that filled me with so much trepidation. I was pissed off that I had to think rationally about a life. I wanted to celebrate my miracle not weigh options like I was buying a house.
With my 2 previous pregnancies, all genetic testing and what ifs were never even considered. I vehemently refused because no matter what, I was having those babies. Now, I had to consider ever possible option; for the baby, for our children, for the Big Guy and I. I just couldn’t reconcile myself to anything other than having this baby and loving and caring for it forever. Concerned and worried, the Big Guy agreed. It isn’t who we are. Even though I am 100% for freedom of choice for women, there was no choice for me because, you see, it wasn’t some abstract fetus; it was a Bella or Gabi.
Even though I had never met this sweet baby yet, I already loved him because I knew what he would become. I knew the love my heart would feel. I knew how my heart would swell when they lay him on my chest for the first time. I knew how when he held me in his gaze while I fed him; it would be just the two of us. I knew a lifetime of kissing booboos and “I Love You”s would never be enough to encompass the love a parent feels for their child. I wanted that again, so much.
We left that lunch excited for the future. We were giggling and discussing what ifs and name choices and how we would announce it to everyone? We were terrified of what might be ahead of us but we were thrilled at the idea of another child to love, to watch grow up together. It was our secret miracle and we couldn’t wait to tell the family when we surprised Gabi with a big sister t-shirt at her 5^th birthday. All the worry I had, left me in the sureness of our choice. Then three weeks later, my choice was taken away. It was the worst day of my life.
Every child is a choice.
2014/01/30
When We’re Dead, We’ll All be Skinny
As the mother of two little girls living in a world that judges a woman’s value on her beauty and how skinny she is, I have spent their lifetime teaching them that they are better than good enough. As a product of that world myself, I have spent my lifetime just trying to feel comfortable in my own skin. We live in a world where people would rather be skinny than happy and where grown women measure their success by their thigh gaps and bikini bridges. Our daughters see this. They are affected.
The fact of the matter is that we live in a world where media treats women like they are objects of beauty; to be seen and not heard. This weighs heavily on a young girl and every thought and action becomes a deliberate choice with ripples that will resonate throughout her entire life. To be seen is to be vulnerable but to be unattractive is to be invisible, which feels almost as bad.
Like many women, I’ve spent years trying to be seen and simultaneously unseen. Passing through space and time from a beautiful child, thru the uncertainty of the teen years and then being thrust at warp speed into the sexual irresistibility of womanhood only to find ourselves sliding into middle age before fading into old age and ultimately death. Why do we allow ourselves to be defined by other people’s perception of who we are?
Little girls come into this world full of hope and beauty and as we age, our beauty fades. It’s no coincidence that so does our hope. We learn pretty early on that the more attractive we are, the more wonderful place the world is for us to be in. By the time the awkwardness of puberty and the teen years hit, our confidence has been shaken and by the time we go to college, most of us will do just about anything to live up to that expectation of beauty.
I know this from firsthand experience. Body dysmorphic disorder had me in its cold dead grip by the time I was 12 and by the time I was 17, I was restricting my food. By 18, I was in college and terrified of what the freshman 15 would mean to my appearance, I was severely restricting my calories, working out for at least 2 hours a day and throwing up every single thing that entered into my body; even water. It was the only way that I felt I had any control over what was happening to me. I will spend the rest of my life in recovery from this. I still occasionally find myself bent over a toilet deciding whether or not to take that next step.
To this day, every taste of food or sip of liquid that enters my mouth is noted. Many days when I look in the mirror, I am frozen in shame at my reflection. Self-loathing has become such a part of who I am that when I look in the mirror and actually like what I see, it surprises me. I am not surprised about this because just over the weekend I saw things that made me understand that I did not do this to myself. I am a product of a society that values men on their strength and intelligence and women on their beauty.
My friend wrote about a throw pillow at Nordstrom that reads,
“To hell with beauty sleep, I want skinny sleep.”
What a shallow and callous statement for Nordstrom to make to the world about women. I am sure that the buyer at Nordstrom thought the pillow was funny but it’s not. It’s a symptom of the sickness of our society.
Another friend wrote this on her FB status: “… If I were to eat a freaking BOX of Twinkies I would have no choice but to divorce my husband and leave my children and go live on an island where I would befriend a community of wild gorillas and be alone and fat forever!”
This makes me so sad because aside from her feeling that if she were unattractive she’d be doomed to a life of unhappiness, this particular woman is absolutely gorgeous and it troubles me that she feels that her happiness in life is so closely attached to her beauty. It saddens me that any of us feel this way because try as we may to not share these feeling with our little girls we do. They see things and hear things when you think they are not paying attention. They see the disappointment in our faces when our jeans are a little snug or the self-loathing that comes after eating carbs. They know and it seeps in to their tiny little minds and soon, they are watching what they eat. Questioning if they should eat at all.
Then we have become part of that same society that has made us this way. We have become part of the problem. The only way we can change this is to learn to love and accept ourselves. Believe me, I know this is harder than it sounds. But for our little girls, we have to try to love ourselves. After all, we’ll all be skinny, when we’re dead.If you won’t do it for yourself, think about your daughters. I don’t want for my girls, what I have experienced. I want better. Don’t you?
If you think I am overreacting, think about how many times you have hung your happiness on how skinny or beautiful you looked.

Photo JustJasmine
2014/01/27
Marlise Munoz, Medically Dead Mom, Used as Incubator for Abnormally Developing Fetus
Legally and medically dead pregnant woman, Marlise Munoz, is being kept alive against her obvious state of deadness and her family’s wishes in order to incubate a fetus that is so deformed that ultrasound can’t even determine whether it’s a girl or boy. Erick Munoz and is son have lost their wife and mother and all the family wants to do is give her a proper burial; to say goodbye but the hospital will not allow them to do so.
Tragically on November 26, 2013, a trained paramedic, Erick Munoz, came home and found his 14-week pregnant wife, Marlise Munoz, unconscious on the floor. She is brain dead from a suspected embolism. She has been like this since that day when her husband found her. The John Peter Smith Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas where she is being held is keeping her on life support despite the protests of her husband and family. She is essentially being used to incubate a fetus that is ‘distinctly abnormal’ after being deprived of oxygen for an unknown period of time before she was found.
Mr. Munoz and the hospital are locked in a court battle about whether to retain life support. Marlise, also a trained paramedic, was very specific with her husband that she did not want extreme measures to keep her alive in a case where she was brain dead. There is no quality of life left. The hospital has decided that Mrs. Munoz should be kept “alive” to give the baby a chance at life completely ignoring the wishes of her, her husband and common sense. The baby is essentially being incubated in a brain dead and deteriorating dead body. The result is that the fetus is not gestating normally.
“Even at this early stage, the lower extremities are deformed to the extent that the gender cannot be determined. The fetus suffers from hydrocephalus. It also appears that there are further abnormalities, including a possible heart problem that cannot be specifically determined due to the immobile nature of Mrs. Munoz’s deceased body. She is legally and medically dead.” However, officials at John Peter Smith Hospital refuse to publicly pronounce Marlise Munoz dead.
This is anguishing for Mr. Munoz, Marlise’s family and their son to go through, not to mention, it’s incredibly unfair to the baby they are keeping alive that is so severely messed up. No one wins in this situation; everybody loses. Last week, Munoz’s husband asked a court to force the hospital to take her off the respirator, ventilator and other machines, saying her wishes shouldn’t be disregarded just because she is pregnant. His goal is to have the hospital disconnect the machines so that her family can take her body and give her a proper burial.
Marlise Munoz and her family
The case has raised questions about end-of-life care and whether a pregnant woman who is considered legally and medically dead should be kept on life support for the sake of a fetus. This is no surprise to me, what they are doing to this woman. The world looks at women as things, possessions, they dehumanize us in their minds so that they can treat us as badly as they do. Women all over the world have their reproductive rights restricted and determined by men; the half of the population who have not actually ever experienced what it feels like to be a woman, to be pregnant and give birth.
If this story was about a woman who was found brain dead at 33 weeks and was kept “alive” to gestate a perfectly normal fetus until week 35. I could understand the hospital’s stance but in this case, the fetus was only 14-weeks at the time of the mother’s death. It was not viable. This situation is the stuff horror movies are made of. A husband has lost his wife, a child has lost his mother, a family has lost it’s daughter and now they are keeping her alive like Frankenstein to gestate a child who will probably not survive outside the womb and even if it does, will face severe obstacles in life. Putting the family in the position to lose another member, to relive another loss. The only humane thing to do is to let this woman and her fetus die together; to end their pain. Give the family some closure and let them move through their grief of such a monumental loss.
Do you think the hospital should keep Marlise Munoz alive or let her and her child die?
2014/01/23
Why do Bloggers Judge Mom Bloggers so Harshly?
I read a post by my friend Jessica, referencing a post by GOMI and the dastardly state of mom bloggers. The story goes a little something like this, mommy blogger pauses to take and Instagram a photo from the ER where her toddler is being held down by his father so that said toddler’s head could be stitched up. I am usually inclined to agree with Jessica on many topics, GOMI not so much.
However, when I first read this, I agreed with Jessica and GOMI. I really did and then I took a moment and thought about it; really thought about it. We don’t live in the world we grew up in. We live in a digital world and everyone over shares. TMI and inappropriate shares are the norm. For Pete’s sake, the Pope has a Twitter account. Women live tweet their births. Nothing is sacred any more. It’s just the way it is.
I understand the whole argument that she should have been spending the time holding her son’s hand instead of taking and editing a photo. I can see that it looks, from the outside, like it’s all very calculated and callous and maybe it was. I just know that many bloggers have been guilty of exercising impropriety in inappropriate times. Is it for traffic? Or is it force of habit? Bad judgment? Or maybe it’s the only way they know how to document their lives? At first read, it felt like this mom blogger should have put down the phone and held her son’s hand.
Then I remembered that I am the same person who left the obstetrician’s office after being told that my baby had no heartbeat and in the midst of my heart breaking pain and through my own primal cries, I wrote it out. I felt like a trapped animal and I needed to purge myself of the pain, to make sense of it and I wrote it all down. I had 15 minutes before I needed to pick up my 4-year-old from preschool. I had to get my shit together. I needed to process the emotions. I needed to get a hold of my own breakdown. I know that to anyone who doesn’t blog, that probably seemed like an odd thing to do.
At the time I was blogging daily and I knew that this miscarriage was going to fuck me up mentally and it did. I knew I couldn’t skim over it or hide it from my regular readers or the people in my every day life. I hadn’t even told family yet but this wasn’t something that I could keep a secret from them for the rest of my life. I couldn’t write authentically and transparently while hiding a major life event. I couldn’t move through my real life keeping something like this from my friends and family. That night, I texted my family and told them what had happened but asked them to please not call me. I was too fragile to speak or even hear the sadness or pity in their voices.
The next morning before I left to the hospital for my D & E, I scheduled that note from my phone to go live. There was no thought or editing that went into it. It was a purge. I needed two things; to process and to purge. My world was collapsing around me and my first thought was to write it down and get it out.
What I didn’t do was share the last photo of my baby; the ultrasound taken at the request of my 4-year-old so that she had a photo of “her baby”. No, I never even considered sharing it because that is private. That is just for my family. That is one of my most precious possessions and it’s not for sell. Just as I am sure there are things that the mom blogger in question does not share. But everyone’s line in the sand is different.
Maybe for that blogger, she took the photo and Instagramed out of habit. Maybe she has become so accustomed to documenting every moment of her life via social media and her blog that it was the most natural thing to do. We are creatures of habit and there is comfort and reassurance in routine. In the moments of life when we are terrified, we go on autopilot.Would it have been okay had she written about it but not taken the photo? Would it have been fine if she tweeted about how scared she was instead of snapped a photo on her phone? Who decides? Why is one way acceptable and the other not? How are we supposed to blog like no one is reading when everyone is judging? I won’t judge this mom because no one knows why she did what she did and quite frankly, who are we to judge?
Do you think everything bloggers do is for traffic or is there a genuine compulsory desire to share their lives?
Why do you think bloggers share and over share their lives?

Image via Flickr/ Tom & Katrien
2014/01/22
The Bush is Back and Pubic Hair is Everywhere
Ladies, have you heard? The BUSH is back! I don’t mean of the George W. or George Herbert or any other kind of political bush. I am talking about full-on 1970’s au natural pubic region BUSH! I write that in all caps because I was born in 1972, hit puberty in the 80’s and I don’t think I have ever grown in more than a landing strip. Bush is a big deal. It’s a game changer. Going back to bush is like a giant “Eff You!” to sexist mainstream society. It’s bra burning for 2014.
If you want proof that pubic hair is back in vogue, just watch last night’s episode of Girls in which Gaby Hoffman was rocking a way over grown, gratuitous bush. I was a little shocked to see a bush on the television because you just don’t see that. Then there was the American Apparel mannequins and recent interviews in which Cameron Diaz proclaimed that she is going back to her au natural state as did Gwyneth Paltrow. Looks like the over 40 set has decided to forgo the Brazilian and just see what happens.
Oh.MY.GOD.Becky, Look at that BUSH!
That is exactly what would have been heard round the locker rooms in the 80’s had anyone thought to go rogue and grow a full on 1970’s porn bush. I would have been laughed out of high school. It was bad enough my dad wouldn’t let me shave my legs and I had to rock tube socks to hide that fact. There was no way I was growing out a pubic area afro. I didn’t care how bad it itched when it grew back in or hurt when you got an ingrown hair, I didn’t even mind the lip slip of 1989. That was a close one, I almost lost a labia. But I survived with no bush and became stronger because of it.
Look if you were born in the 80’s, I am pretty sure that you have never seen a true full on bush unless you walked in on your grandma in the shower. Well, maybe if you are Amish, I am assuming that since you aren’t allowed to use zippers, razors are forbodden, as well. In which case, you know the bush and the tube socks, all to well.
I’ve been landscaping my nether regions since they began to grow in.I had no choice. It was what was expected. My pubic region has looked prepubescent for so many years that I’m not even sure if I could grow a full on bush. I mean, it kind of explains why my boobs took so long to grow in. If they were waiting for the pubic hair to come in fully as a sign to grow, I can see where the confusion came in.I suppose there are some benefits to a bush if you are over 50, to hide the wrinkles but then you would have gray hairs, right? That’s got to age you.
To be honest, with this new fad of full bush coming back, I am a little afraid that I will be completely out of style because it’s been so long since I have had any pubic hair, I may be in for quite the surprise like those men who purposely shave themselves bald in their 20’s as a fashion statement only to find in their 30’s that their hair will not grow back in and they are, in fact, now unintentionally bald. I’m afraid I may have landscaped myself right out of style in 2014.
Oh well, let’s be honest. I am not really too keen on the whole idea of bush anyways. I personally don’t relish the thought of looking like I have a midget with an afro in a headlock between my legs and not to be TMI,(though I just wrote an entire post on pubic hair) but some of us are just hairier than others. The thought of catching pubic hair on the sticky side of a panty liner sounds excruciating. I’m not even sure that I have panties equipped to handle a full bush. That sounds like a job for a younger girl with bigger panties and don’t even think about going commando with a bush because I am pretty sure that getting that thing caught in a zipper would be like pulling nose hairs.
But all joking aside, a woman’s beauty should never be wrapped up in what is between her legs and certainly not in its packaging. Hair grows on our bodies for a reason ( well, everything except for the upper lip hair I’m sure that’s just a cruel joke) and why would we want our women’s bodies to look like little girls? Hair is a personal thing, some of us like it long and some of us like it short and some like none at all. I say, do whatever makes YOU feel beautiful and whether that means being bald or wearing a thick, full afro between your legs, go on with your bad self!
So if you want to be in vogue in 2014, burn your bras, back away from the wax and razors and don your natural bush because baby, the bush is back.
What do you think of the new fashion of women growing in their body hair? Will you love the bush or leave it?
2014/01/20
Kindergarten Teacher, Thomas Washburn, Removes 6-Year-Old Girls Shirt in a Fit of Anger & Leaves her Exposed in Front of the Entire Class
An Arizona Kindergarten teacher, Thomas Washburn, faces 26 counts of indecent exposure and one count of child abuse after he allegedly removed a 6-year-old girl’s shirt and left her naked from the waist up in a packed classroom. He did what????
Thomas Washburn, 54, a teacher at Adams Elementary School in Mesa, Arizona was arrested Wednesday when the incident was reported by the little girl’s mom and is now on “PAID” leave. Meanwhile, the little girl is humiliated and traumatized. This man should be locked up in jail.
Police said that something upset Washburn, who then started shouting in the classroom filled with 24 kindergarteners and an adult aide. The loud outburst frightened the little girl so badly that she hid her face in the top of her shirt. I know, as parents, we sometimes have these moments of insanity where we do something unconventional but that is our own children and it doesn’t happen in front of 24 of their peers and we aren’t strange men ripping their clothes off and leaving them naked and exposed.
Further infuriated by the little girl’s behavior, Washburn told the little girl to take her face out of the shirt. When she did not comply, he took her shirt off of her, leaving her naked from the waist up in front of her classmates for about 10 minutes. The little girl began crying, presumably a combination of the fright of having her shirt ripped off of her by a crazed old man, someone she trusted, and being naked in front of her classmates. Eventually, the sonofabitch returned her clothes. This makes me want to bust this guy in the face with a ball bat. I’ve had a teacher pull my kindergartener to the front of the class to point out that her uniform was not to code and that was enough to make me livid. I not only approached the teacher and told her in no uncertain terms that she was to NEVER embarrass my child again but I even contacted the principal because, in my mind, this is not acceptable to do to a child. If she would have removed a piece of clothing or touched her, I’m certain I would have physically hurt her.
To make matters worse, the victim’s mother said her daughter was born prematurely and is “developmentally delayed.” This man is a piece of garbage and clearly does not need to be teaching in the classroom.
Ok, that was what the report said, more or less, now let me tell you what I think. You see I have a 6-year-old girl and believe me when I tell you that if a teacher, male or female, ripped my kids shirt off of her in a fit of rage or what the fuck ever was going on, this person should expect to feel the full wrath of myself and my husband. I’m saying this asshole should hide because I’d be at his house to collect him with a ball bat, take him to the mall and strip him down in front of the world to let him stand there on display with his bad attitude and his little dick in humiliation for the full ten minutes in which he let the child do the same and then I would beat him with the said bat. This asshole should not be allowed alone with children. He obviously has some sort of anger issue and has no clue as to how to handle an uncooperative child. He needs to lose his job and be punished for this for the rest of his life because by doing what he did, that will follow that little girl for the rest of her life. She will be afraid of grown men in positions of power and feel vulnerable and threatened. As far as I am concerned, this man is an animal and belongs in a cage.
If he couldn’t handle the crazy unrest of 6-year-olds than he should have stayed the hell out of a kindergarten classroom. He should have walked away. No matter what was going on in his life to make him have a bad day, his responsibility is to protect and teach those children and there is an expectation from those parents who are leaving their child in his care that he actually CARES for their child, not humiliates them in front of the class.
What would you do if a teacher did this to your 6-year-old?
2014/01/18
Dear Unsubscriber
Dear Unsubscriber,
Hey, You, yeah you! The one who is wondering if she should waste a comment or just go. Yes, I know that you delicately tried to slip away out the back door without anyone noticing but damned if feedproxy wasn’t standing there, right behind you, yelling and pointing…“Hey, look she’s leaving! You suck!”
And just like that our blogger/reader love affair was over. I know that I don’t always say the right thing and sometimes I’m overtired and cranky and maybe I don’t even make sense but I thought you got me. I really thought you understood that not all of them are gold. I thought I was safe. This was a judge free zone. Some posts are flops but I didn’t know our relationship was so fickle that you would leave me over one bad day. One crap post. I’m sorry my dog died and my period came and the snow has been really bad. Sometimes a bloggers got to complain. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. But hey, I’ll do better next time. I’ll write a funny post about how to survive shark week without losing a limb or explaining your period to kids in a public bathroom at Panda Express.
You knew what you were getting into when we started this relationship. I told you from the beginning that it wasn’t always going to be sunshine and unicorns. I tell it like it is. I’m a real person and sometimes really bad and boring shit happens in my life. I thought our love was unconditional. I listen to your side in the comments. I don’t plug my ears and ignore you. I don’t delete what you have to say. You read and comment, I write and respond. We share. It’s symbiotic.Well, it used to be. We got to know one another. This isn’t match.com. You can’t just order up your flavor of the month and put me into a box. I have thoughts and opinions.
I never took you for the one giveaway type. I’ve never considered myself easy. Did you just pretend to like me to get into my “giveaways”? Say it isn’t so. Please tell me you didn’t subscribe to me JUST for the goodies that I could give you only to toss me aside once you’d had your way with me. I feel so used. Like a bloggy whore. I thought we meant more to one another than that.
Come back.Don’t leave. I won’t always be stressed and bloated and have cabin fever and my kids won’t always drive me up a wall. Things will get better. I won’t do it again. Let’s not take a break and if you are going to “unsubscribe” from this relationship, why not tell me why? Give a girl some closure. Think of it as an exit interview. Just drop me a note so I can grow and learn from it before I get my bloggy heart broken again.
I mean we shared at least one post that meant something to both of us, even if it was just a laugh while you were in the pick up line or an unsuspecting cry in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep? Or what about the time I made you shoot diet coke, wine or coffee out your nose? Let’s not even bring up the time you were reading about my labor while sitting on the toilet. I’ve shared my most personal stories with you. We’ve been intimate.
I wish you nothing but sunshine and unicorns unsubscriber. Just know that every time feedproxy sends me an unsubscribe notice, a blogger dies.
XOXO
P.S. If you would like to donate a subscription to the keep a blogger alive foundation subscribe here
2014/01/17
The Problem With Education Vouchers is that Some Kids Don’t Belong in Private Schools
Okay, at the risk of sounding like a complete asshole, I want to discuss Education Vouchers. Our state has recently put into place a program that provides education vouchers for many children in the state to give them the financial ability to attend a private school of their choosing. Sounds awesome. Finally, children who were not wealthy could still have access to a private education.
I grew up poor but was always at the top of my class. I worked my ass off because my parents stressed the value of a good education. It was important to our family.Had the voucher program been in place when I was a kid, I could have gone to private school and received a more challenging education than what my public school education could provide.
My girls attend a private co educational school because we place value and importance on education. We are by no means wealthy but we made the choice to prioritize our girl’s educations over other things.We made the decision to sacrifice in other areas. We go without some things so the girls can get the best education we can provide for them. Unfortunately, even though we are not wealthy we also don’t qualify for the education voucher but I was still 100% in favor of education vouchers because if it could help one kid who needed it to get to an education they deserved, it was perfect.
Here is the problem, the education voucher was a great idea in theory prompted by people with seemingly good intentions but in fact, it is failing miserably, in my own personal experience. You see when you attend private school, there are usually a battery of entrance requirements; interviews, stipulations, testing. Parental involvement is a must and if it’s parochial, so is involvement in the church. At out school, the staff know al the parents because we volunteer on a regular basis. We see each other several times a week and we are in many ways, a family. But when you attend private school on an education voucher none of that applies. None of it. None.Of.IT!! I don’t think that is fair at all but that’s not here or there because fair is a luxury life doesn’t usually afford us. This is not me being an elitist snob this is me stating facts.
Every morning at drop off, I see kids whose parents took the voucher and forced their kids to attend private school. Some want to be there but others don’t. I don’t begrudge a parent for wanting better for their child but if you are going to go in, go all in and be involved with their kids education more than just dropping them off at school. They are not required to be involved in school activities like the parents of traditional students. At our school, traditionally it is required that the entire family be involved. There are requirements and expectations in place for both parents and students.
We oblige because we want the education for our children and we want to optimize the experience because we are invested ourselves, financially and personally. What bothers me is that the parents of the children attending on vouchers are not required to volunteer at the school or attend the church. Since the voucher went into effect, our school rating has fallen. I think it has a lot to do with uninvolved parents who are not invested in the program because they didn’t have to pay for it and in effect, children who take for granted what they’ve been given. It’s just not that important when you don’t have to earn it or pay for it.
I’m paying a lot of money in tuition for my kid to go to what is becoming a subpar school while these other parents send their child to the same school for free. We bust our ass to meet the stringent requirements as a family in order to attend the school. Meanwhile, the parents of the voucher students don’t have to do anything. My issue is not with the children, my issue is with the program. There needs to be equal admissions qualifications for all families, vouchers aside.There needs to be academic standards in place as criteria for admissions. Some sort of academic testing should be in place and there should be an interview process in which the parents are made aware of and held to the same standards as all the other parents and students.
I think financial need should be a qualification but there needs to be testing to make sure they deserve to be there; that they can keep up educationally and that they actually want to be there. If they don’t qualify then they shouldn’t get to attend the school; voucher or not. Why should the kids whose parents have worked their asses off to provide them with a great education and who have worked hard since kindergarten to be a part of the school, now have to accept the new lower standard in education excellence?
What do you think about kids being accepted into private schools simply because they qualify for free tuition through education vouchers?
2014/01/15
How to Say No & Not Feel Bad about it
You know what no one teaches us as children? How to say NO! Sure we may say “no” for a few years in obstinate defiance as children but soon, that is beaten out of us ( not literally but we are told over and over again that it’s not nice to say no!) We are taught from the time we are toddlers that to be pleasing in word, deed and action to those who surround us. We are even urged to look pleasing. Inadvertently, we are turned into yes to people. We are taught that to say no is to be disagreeable. “No” comes with a metric ton of guilt. But what no one tells you is that “no” can be empowering. We all need to learn how to say no, not feel bad about it and carry on. Guilt is overrated. I have enough guilt from drinking the Kool-Aid that’s told me there is such a thing as the “perfect parent”, when we all know the “perfect parent” is no more real than unicorns.
I’ve spent my entire life trying to fit in. That is what society dictates. To be “pleasing” is not the same as coloring my world all unicorns and rainbows but it is also not in your face instigation. I assume it comes from growing up in a household and a society where I was told regularly to ‘be quiet” as to not rock the boat or cause discourse. Why the fuck is it so important for everyone to like what everyone else says or wants? Once I really thought about it, sure who doesn’t like to be “liked” but then I thought, if I’m always saying yes to shit I hate, it’s all a big lie anyways and no ones pleased really; not the people I am saying yes to and certainly, not me. Not to mention, saying yes can become overwhelming and you will find yourself bogged down with things that you don’t want to do and missing opportunities that would be better suited to your life. This can happen in your career, school, family or friendships.
I’m sure the people pleasing started when I was a child. I wanted to make my parents happy like all children. I wanted to feel special among the 6 children they had. My claim to “special” child was pleasing disposition and great grades. I said yes, I did my chores, I did my homework and I strove for perfection in all areas. I thrived in the praise of , “Good job, Debi!” But then it was never enough. Parental approval became like a drug and soon I found myself feeling let down and never able to meet the standards.I just kept saying yes to please people, even though I was becoming completely miserable. In fact, I found myself finding excuses to refuse offers to go or do things because I just felt like me not wanting to was not a valid reason. It seemed selfish and warranted disapproval.
Why can’t we all just have our feelings without seeking validation from others. I have friends that I love but we don’t agree on politics or religion or even the color of the sky but we are friends still; we agree to disagree. I respect them as people and I respect their right to their opinion even if I don’t agree. I like hearing their perspectives. Hell, maybe I’ll learn something or they will point out something I never even thought of. I would never want a friend who only always said yes because if they only ever agreed with what I said, I’d have to wonder if they ever had a thought of their own and if they were genuine at all.
I know all this about myself and I am trying to break the involuntary response to placate others without ever considering first what I want. Still , on a regular basis people ask me to do stuff that I don’t want to do and do not benefit me in anyway and I say yes because I don’t want to hurt feelings, piss people off or I simply have no excuse to refuse other than I just don’t want to. Saying no doesn’t make you selfish. People do huge life changing things for the wrong reason all the time because they are afraid to say know. People marry the wrong person, take the wrong career path,stay in a marriage and even have children because it was what was expected of them. That is just not a good enough reason.
Who says no because they don’t want to unless they are a two-year-old throwing a tantrum? I am an adult and somehow saying no feels petty. Who wants to be thought of as petty? I often find myself frustrated and doing something I didn’t want to do but didn’t think I had the right to say no. Why can’t I say no? I don’t want to do it. I am an adult. I have the right to make a choice. The right to refuse. Remember to consider if when you say yes to others are you saying no to yourself? I am saying no from now on when I don’t want to do something and I refuse to qualify why to others.
Last week, it just clicked for me and someone asked me to do something that I didn’t want to and before I could even think about it, I said no. I caught myself and I felt embarrassed and guilty. It was a simple request from my husband to help him shovel the snow, during the blizzard. He never asks me to but there was a LOT of snow. But I was cold and the thought of shoveling snow that was 14 inches high and still falling felt too daunting a task and I wanted no part of it.I said no and I meant it. I think I shocked him. I eventually acquiesced and we shoveled together. Thank God, it may have killed him shoveling al that snow by himself. But when I said no, you can’t believe how happy it made me to say it out loud.
It starts with little things like, “Come on try a piece of this or that, just a taste.” You want to say no but why bother it’s only a small piece but then before you know it, it’s your virginity, your career, your happiness. It’s your life. When does it stop? We get into a habit of avoiding conflict and just saying yes. Say NO. What’s the worst that can happen? You inconvenience someone else? So what. Isn’t your happiness just as important as theirs.
Forgo the guilt and soak up the giddy excitement and sheer joy that comes with saying no. It’s invigorating to say no. Now, I understand why the two-year-olds love it so much. The liberation of saying no to something that you genuinely don’t want to do is one of the most . Consider yourselves, your wants and needs before you answer and if you don’t want to do something, feel free to confidently and graciously say no. Grinning and bearing it never made anyone happy and lying to get out of things is exhausting. Feel heard and know that you should never feel afraid to have an opinion. Somethings in life we have to do, even if we don’t like them because they are what is best for us. Guilt should not be a part of saying no.
How do you say no and not feel bad about it?
2014/01/13
Mentally Ill Teen, Keith Vidal, Shot & Killed because Officer Had No Time for That
The family of 18-year-old, Keith Vidal, called their local police for help when their son was behaving erratically during a schizophrenic episode last Sunday night. The 18-year-old from Boiling Spring Lake, North Carolina, was first tasered by two police officers and on the ground when shot and killed by a third officer, Bryon Vassey, from the neighboring town of Southport.
According to this emotional video by Keith Vidal’s stepbrother, Mark Ryan Wilsey, Keith was recently diagnosed with Schizophrenia and was coping while dosing was being figured out.
Vidal’s father, Mark Wilsey, called the police Sunday night because his son was armed with an electric, six-inch screwdriver and was threatening his mother. According to the family the two officers had the situation under control, with the 100-pound Keith Vidal on the ground tasered, when Officer Vassey entered the premises and within 60 seconds said, “We don’t have time for this.” Then he shot Keith Vidal in the chest, killing him. I can’t get the disturbing image out of my head of someone putting down a lame dog.
Officer Vassey first said he was ‘defending himself,” only to later say through his lawyer he was defending another officer. How could deadly force be the only option when there are 3 officers and a Taser involved to subdue one skinny teenager?
My heart breaks for this family. Any person who has ever dealt with, loved with or been mentally ill knows that getting the right meds dosage is critical. Sometimes it takes months or even years to find the right dosage. Meds can alter your state of mind sometimes even worse than the mental illness itself.
This kid was 18-years-old and recently diagnosed. Can you imagine what a pill it is to swallow to be told that you have a mental illness and will be medicated for the rest of your life just to be “normal”? I can. When I was first diagnosed with Bipolar 1, I was at a point in my life where I had been ill for years with no help. No diagnosis. I felt irreparably broken. I felt alone and severed from everyone around me. I can’t even describe to you what it feels like to feel so broken. The closest I can compare it to would be like living in quick sand and you are being swallowed whole by the disease but the more you struggle to resist, to survive the deeper you sink and the more likely you are to lose yourself. It is terrifying because you don’t know why this is happening to you. Was it something you did or didn’t do?
When I finally got a diagnosis, I was terrified but relieved. Relieved that there was help to be had and to find that I wasn’t so broken as much as really bent. It was a struggle to get back to “normal”; whatever that is. I’m not sure I really know. Normal is relative, I suppose.
It took months of highs and lows. I was originally misdiagnosed as depressed and given enough anti-depressants to kill a horse, which made me ever increasingly manic. In the end, I was at the brink of psychosis. I saw madness. I felt it. Touched it. Lived it. It was the biggest part of me.
Eventually, anti-depressants were taken down to next to nothing; stabilizers and Ambien entered the picture. Where mania once ran rampant, now zombie like living: walking into walls and all-consuming lethargy had become part of who I was. After a few months, I was finally regulated and began to feel “normal” for the first time in years; maybe ever.
It all seems so cut and dry when you write it out but it’s not. The part I haven’t told you that before my medication dosage was right, I was highly erratic. I was like a ticking time bomb. What was going on inside my head was so distracting that it left me annoyed and irrationally angry with myself and everyone around me. Later, through therapy, I realized that the irritability was directly proportional to my mania. My body and mind were pissed off because no one ever turned the lights off. My body and mind were exhausted and there was no off switch to be had.
I did irrational things just to feel alive because I ALWAYS needed to feel alive; I drove fast, lived fast and never considered consequences. I teetered between feeling invincible and wanting to die. I drank a lot. I know now that I subconsciously did that to shut things off. It’s actually pretty common. I alienated family and friends because I overreacted to everything. Sometime between high school and college graduation, I had spun completely out of control. The insomnia was just fuel to the fire.
I fully accept responsibility for my behavior in those days though, honestly, I had no real control over a lot of it. I never wielded a weapon at my parents but I did throw a friend’s belongings off my balcony and came pretty damn close to tossing her as well during a particularly manic episode. I used to be quite good at pushing people away. I think I was afraid they’d see the real me and know something was “off ”. Even before I knew what it was, I knew something wasn’t right. I hoped and prayed that there was a reason for the behavior.
My whole point for this very long and drawn out story is that if you met me today, you’d know that I’m not the same person I was at 18, 21 or even 25. I am the mother of two, a wife, and even a room mother. I am just like you but maybe I wouldn’t be if someone decided that they had no time for me to get help; to learn to live with my diagnosis. Perhaps, this is the problem with the world, we resign ourselves to believe that those who are mentally ill are dangerous, less than or even worthless. We forget that they are people, just like you and I.Well, more like me than you, I suppose:) My point is that just because someone is mentally ill doesn’t mean they can’t be valuable members of society or good human beings. It only means that they might have a more difficult journey than the rest of us.
Officer Vassey might have been scared and felt threatened because sometimes in the midst of an episode, the person suffering looks scary. The fact remains that if two officers had Keith Vidal tasered on the ground, what possible reason could there have been to shoot him? Unlike me, Keith Vidal is dead and now, will never have the chance to learn to live with his disease; to grow up, to have a family, to be a dad or a husband.
What are your thoughts on this tragic story? What would you do if you were Keith Vidal parents?

2014/01/10