just breathe
Before I was pregnant, whenever I would hear pregnancy/mother stories I’d half listen, not because I didn’t care — I did — but I had no frame of reference and frankly didn’t get it. (24 weeks, NICU, contractions meant nothing to me back then). Now that pregnancy is all I have on my mind, I’m having trouble coming up with anything universally helpful that won’t make you non-mom-far-from-pregnant women roll your eyes. That said, during a massive contraction this morning I think I came up with something. It’s funny how sometimes something physical can be a perfect metaphor for what we can grapple with in our emotional and psychological lives.
So for those of you who have not had the pleasure, the pain of a contraction lies anywhere between a period cramp to what I can only imagine is an anaconda tightened around your stomach and back, making you want to die (or punch someone very, very hard in the face). I know a contraction is coming because Meep, feeling the wave first, will push his head up into my ribs and lungs and I will suddenly be out of breath and then it hits…PAIN. For the last three weeks, every single time I’ve felt a contraction coming on, I hold my breath, close my eyes and tense my whole body in anticipation of the pain. (Actually as I write this, I’m realizing it’s a lot like the moment after the wax has been applied and the esthetician is rubbing down the piece of cloth that is about to rip off your pubic hair at the root). Anyway, this morning, distracted by reading an email from a friend who described how she spent the vast majority of her pregnancy worried sick about a labor that in the end didn’t happen, I missed my usual cue and there it was…the contraction. Apparently, holding your breath in anticipation of pain doesn’t make it any better. In fact, it makes it worse.
So this is a long way of getting to the fact that I spend way too much of my life tensed in anticipation of pain that a) doesn’t come to fruition and b) is never as bad as I expect it to be. So this is what I’ve been spending the last couple of days on bed rest doing and I seriously recommend you give it a try. First, write down every single thing you’re worried about—every emotional, psychological and even physical pain you are anticipating. Then, after you have a thorough list (you really have to be honest with yourself and let it all come out which may take a while if you’re the kind of person who worries you won’t have enough worries) and then go through it and cross off everything that is out of your control. If you’re anything like me, you have a delusional perception of what you actually have control over so be tough on yourself and really consider: do I have control over this? If the answer is no or not a whole lot, let it go. Then for the remaining items (and that list should seriously be no longer than 5-7 worries), consider three things:
1) What is the worst that can happen? You do this because once you look the disaster in the face, it’s power actually dissipates.
2) What would you do if that outcome were to arise? I was actually surprised at how cathartic answering this question can be—way more empowering than morbid. I went through my responses to everything from bankruptcy to not having enough onesies (notice how I didn’t include Meep having a fatal disease or being unfortunate looking…not much I can do to control that at this point) and then finally…
3) If, in fact, this pain or fear is in the realm of being possible and you do in fact have some control over it, what can you do today (tomorrow, next week) to take some kind of action that will minimize the odds or at least get the “anticipation” monkey off your back? We tend to procrastinate what we fear most and the quickest way to minimize the fear is to do something, anything about it.
At the end of the day we spend way too much time worrying about what isn’t likely to happen or, if it does, is more survivable than we thought. It not only takes away from being with the pleasure of what’s enjoyable about our lives but belittles our ability to be able to survive and even thrive in the face of what’s hard. If you really want to make your way through pain and/or the anticipation of pain (which is better known as fear) tackle the list above and then do what my prenatal yoga teacher suggests and BREATHE.
March 3rd, 2011 at 12:29 pm
GOOD LUCK to you! We love what you do for THE LIMITED…your life full of sweet success. TINA
March 4th, 2011 at 9:20 am
Thanks Tina – appreciate your note. nlw
March 16th, 2011 at 8:16 pm
This was a nice accident to come upon. My daughter in NYC is soon to be 42, in great health, and in labor now!!!! My first grandchild is coming! Hang in there.