The Truth About Self-Worth

This post is a little different than the others, but I promise, it's worth it.

So, a few months ago I attended a women's conference. I was pretty excited about it and went with one of my friends. This conference had different classes that you could attend, one of which was called "Self-Worth." I went into this class with the expectation that I would learn how to better love myself and know how to work on the things I don't like without putting myself down. And by doing all of this, how to better know that God loves me. This seemed like a reasonable assumption, right?

Well, wasn't I surprised!

The class started off okay. The teacher started by talking about living our lives in a way that is pleasing to God. You know, that's cool. Perfectly good with that. But then the lesson turned to something completely different, and in my opinion, completely wrong.

Members of the class were participating in a discussion on what the teacher had presented. One woman in the group started talking about swearing. I get it, I don't love swearing. It doesn't exactly make me feel great to hear it or say it, but this woman started on about how you shouldn't swear because men don't like it. And if men don't like it, well then....

I was shocked. Wasn't this a SELF-WORTH class?!

My friend that was with me felt the same way but it seemed that we were the only ones as the conversation quickly snowballed into every comment being about don't-do-that-because-men-find-it-unattractive. It became "you shouldn't dress like this because men don't like women who dress like that," and "you shouldn't act like that because men won't like it." The teacher quickly joined in with this nonsense.

I should have had the guts to say something, but I felt super outnumbered and really in shock. This class that was supposed to teach this group of women ranging from ages 12-80 was really just spreading this false notion that in order to be of worth, you have to do what men like women to do.

Let me just tell you right now, that's complete crap.

Here's the truth about self-worth. You are worth more than rubies. You are a child of God and he loves you unconditionally. So much that he sent his son to suffer for your sins. You are amazing and wonderful and have so much to offer. You change the world every day and you don't even know it. You are worth more than you may ever know. Love yourself, because if anyone deserves love, it is you.

SO next time you hear someone saying that your worth, or any woman's worth is dictated by what a man thinks of you, please, for me and all the women of the world, you tell that person what's good about the worth of souls. And you make sure you never forget it.


Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God  -D&C 18:10

Confession #10

Confession #10

Today, I cried over toothpaste.

There are a lot of ups and downs during pregnancy, but for me, waiting to go into labor is a special kind of torture.

People keep saying stuff to me like, "enjoy this time, you'll never get it back," and "just relax and get a lot of sleep cause you won't be able to after." Ok, here's the thing. I've had 9 months to enjoy this time and relax and get a lot of sleep. I am straight up sick of it. I'm sick of the insane hormones and the contractions that don't actually do anything. I'm sick waiting to meet my son. 

In case you haven't heard, I'm also on bed rest. My blood pressure has been doing weird stuff but it goes back to normal when I'm resting. So now I'm not allowed to cook anything, to clean anything, or even walk over to the mailbox (which is at the front office. I live in an apartment). It wasn't that bad the first few days, but both Bruno and I are sick of the inactivity. But, of course, I have to take it all easy and everything until the baby gets here.

My hormones are freakin' nuts. I cry over everything, and I know it's stupid, but honestly, there is nothing I can do about it. Not only do I cry, but I suddenly snap at people, especially my poor husband, who is basically a saint at this point.

Not being able to go to the store myself, I asked Jaden to pick up some things on his way home from work: toilet paper, toothpaste, ice cream... And of course, I wanted specific ones for specific reasons. My dear husband came home with toilet paper, toothpaste, and ice cream, but not the specific ones I had asked for. I just broke down and cried. I felt so bad because I felt like the world's biggest jerk. He had gone and done this for me, and then all I did was cry and complain when he didn't get the right ones. 

I also keep having contractions. Baby finally dropped and now I keep having these contractions, but they're the ones that don't do anything. They get your body ready for the real thing or whatever. I've been having them for a month. It would be super cool if my body would just be ready now, because I am so annoyed at this crap. 

Last night I was having a ton of these fake contractions, like 7-8 in one hour. I called the on-call doctor to see if I should go into labor and delivery, but he said no, so I went to sleep. I barely had any during the day today, but now they're back to torture me tonight. 

So honestly, I am physically and emotionally exhausted. Completely drained. At the end of my rope. So done. I get all the rest and relaxation that people keep telling me to get, but it doesn't feel as great and glorious as people make it sound. In fact, it sucks. 

I got a blessing from my husband tonight. Whenever I ask for one, he asks me specifically what I want the blessing for. I wasn't sure how to answer. It's not like a blessing would magically make me go into labor or fix my blood pressure so that I can do stuff, but I just needed something to help me out. A little spiritual infusion was sure to help. And it did. I feel a little better, but I still feel like sitting in my bed and crying my eyes out. I still hate having these stupid fake contractions and wacky hormones that mess with my head, but I feel like now I have a better handle on it. Like a renewed energy to deal with it. 

The baby will come when he is supposed to come. There is nothing I can do to make him come quicker or to make the suckiness of waiting go away, but at least I can find a new strength in myself. God is pretty awesome that way. The power of prayer is real and it can do so much. I am really grateful for that. So while I might still cry over the wrong toothpaste, I feel like I can deal with everything a little better.

Confession #9

Confession #9

Revenge is a dish best served never.

Remember being in second grade on the playground with your best friend? Remember how there was that one time where she said something in haste, without thinking, and not realizing that it would really hurt you? Remember how you reacted out of anger and said something even meaner back? Remember how you could never be friends again because of that one little spat? Do you remember learning anything from that?

So here's the thing: Recently, one of my good friends did something that really hurt me. I acted like it didn't, but it did. She did not intent to hurt me, and did it without thinking of how I might feel. This thing she did not only hurt me, it really pissed me off. I found myself making snide comments about her, not to anyone, just myself. I even got to the point where I wasn't sure I still wanted to be friends with her. Yes, over this little thing. 

Well the situation came up where our roles were reversed and I had the opportunity to do to her what she had done to me. "Perfect!" I thought. "This will really teach her! You can't just do that to a friend and not expect it to hurt. I hope she learns her lesson from this." 

Yeah, cause that's not hypocritical right?! 

Well, fear not, I did figure that out. And I thought about the little girls on the play ground and how their entire friendship was ended over something mindless. Then I thought, did anyone end up happy? Did teaching the other girl a lesson really solve anything? Really all that this ended up producing was two upset girls, each with one less friend to play with and talk to. 

That's when I decided I was being a whiney second-grader and I needed to grow up. 

Unfortunately, it seems like as adults, we keep this crappy part of childhood with us and act upon it. Someone says something absentmindedly at church that offends us and we never go back or a friend accidentally says something rude to us and we never text them back. Another parent makes an observation about our child not realizing it can be taken badly, and we don't have play dates with them anymore. 

It's a lesson we all learned in second grade. Revenge, or teaching someone a lesson for something they have done to you, only makes you angry and alone. If we could only remember this lesson like we remember how to multiply 6 x 5. Then maybe we could stay friends with our friends, or happily keep going to church, or get our mommy time at the play date. We wouldn't end up bitter, angry, and with one less person to call a friend. 

I remembered this lesson just in time. I did not do what my friend had done to me. We ended up having a very nice time and I found that I did not even have to consciously forgive her. It sort of just happened. Now we can still spend time together and confide in each other just as we had before. It's really nice to still have her as a friend. Who knows what would have happened if I had decided to take my revenge. I'm sure glad I didn't. 

When Christ told us to turn the other cheek, he wasn't necessarily talking about letting someone beat us up or abuse us. I like to think he was talking about things like this. Where you can get angry and fight back and you can both lose, or you can turn the other cheek and things can go back to where they were without the bitterness and resentment. And if what happened caused such a riff that if can't go back to where it was? Well, then you can decide not to cause more pain than was already caused. You can decide to let go off the anger and just be happy. It works. Trust me. No, it's not always easy, but I've found practice certainly helps.

So stay friends, my friends. It's far better that way.

Confession #8

Confession #8

I have pregnancy amnesia.

I have something I like to call pregnancy amnesia. It's not the same as pregnancy brain. Pregnancy brain is where you walk into a room and forget what you were going there for, when you forget your best friend's name right in front of her, and when you forget your point halfway through a sentence. Pregnancy amnesia is different. Pregnancy amnesia is what women get that makes them want to get pregnant again. They forget about all the aches and pains and stretch marks and Braxton Hicks and hop on board for another baby. 

I must have early onset pregnancy amnesia. I think this is due to the blissful second trimester I've had. As I head into the third trimester, I get ready for less sleep and more uncomfortable days. But, I feel the need to look back on that first trimester and remind myself that this pregnancy has not been all peaches and cream. Maybe if I document it, it will delay that full on pregnancy amnesia that will make me want to get pregnant again. Note I said delay. I'm sure I will have more kids, but I don't want to be too hasty.

So, come with me, let's reminisce about that first trimester.

Let's start with this. At one point I declared that someone should name a Catholic school after me. We could call it Our Lady of Perpetual Barfing or of Perpetual Morning Sickness, whichever is more tasteful. 

Morning sickness kicked in at about week 4 for me: right after I found out I was pregnant. And man, did it hit hard. Automatically, I couldn't hold anything down. That included water, food, and prenatal vitamins. I hit a point where I had gone 3 days without being able to hold anything down. I obviously began to drop weight rapidly and got to a point where I was just at the end of my rope. Don't think I didn't try everything in the book. I did. I tried everything with ginger, crackers by my bed, eating before I got up in the morning, eating and drinking all the kinds of things I read about and people told me about. I even started brushing my teeth a different way. Nothing worked. 

 

I had made an appointment with a doctor's office in my area that I had heard was good. I gave them a call, concerned that I was getting dehydrated. I asked them for help, and you know what they said? They said no. For real. 

The woman told me there was nothing that they could do for morning sickness and that if I thought I was dehydrated to go to the Emergency Room. I told her several of the things that doctors could prescribe or give me to help, but the woman told me no. She said they didn't do any of that at their office. I asked her if I could move my appointment up (it was still 3-4 weeks away) and talk to the doctor about it. She told me if I wanted to change my appointment, the only times she had open were 6-8 weeks away. So obviously I said no. Like duh. 

I decided to go looking for another doctor. I had asked around but I only knew a couple of people because we had just moved here a month before. Besides that, apparently a ton of people in my area go to their family practice doctors for babies instead of an OBGYN. And I wanted an OBGYN. I finally found another place that was relatively close and was actually at the hospital. Well, in one of the neighboring buildings to the actual hospital. I decided to give them a call. The woman who answered the phone was sympathetic. She suggested some things that I could do. When I told her I had already tried those things and was still beyond sick, she went ahead and made me an appointment, for the next morning. I called the first doctor and told them to cancel my appointment. I would not be their patient.

I went in the next morning, a total mess. I was pleased seeing the building and the hospital though. They looked good, clean, and newer than the hospital I would have been going to with the first doctor. I also found out later that this hospital had an amazing NICU. Knowing that I would probably have some high risk components to my pregnancy, a good NICU was more than welcome. 

I was in an exam room within 10 minutes. The head nurse was the one who saw me, since the doctors don't typically see patients that early in the pregnancy. She gave me a huge bag full of sample prescription prenatal vitamins that supposed to help with morning sickness (a month and a half supply). She told me to take it for a few days and if I was still super sick to call her and she would call me in a prescription for Zofran (which, can I just say, is like THE PROMISED LAND of morning sickness medicine). 

I started feeling a little bit better after that. Of course, that weekend I flew to Utah for my niece's baby blessing. The flight was miserable. Thanks for asking. Let's just say I most definitely used the air sickness bags, several of them. 

When I got to Utah I stayed with my brother and his wife and had to try my hardest to hide my pregnancy and outrageous morning sickness from my family. I thought I did a pretty good job. The blessing was beautiful and it was so good to see my family. I then turned around and flew back home. The way back was also miserable. When I arrived back home, I called the doctor's office and got the Zofran. 

I started doing much better after that, and when we finally told our family, I asked my brother and sister-in-law if they at all suspected while I was staying with them. They said no, but that was just because I'm always sick. A very fair point. 

A little over a month ago, one of my close friends told me that she is pregnant. When her morning sickness hit, I tried to help her as much as I could by bestowing on her all my morning sickness knowledge. A few weeks later, when I was at her house, she had thrown up a total of 3 times. She said she was going to keep track and see how many times she threw up during her pregnancy. Then her husband asked me how many times I threw up. I told him somewhere upward of 40 times if I had to guess. He was astounded. Then I told him my record was 7 times in one day. He couldn't believe it. When I said I was super sick, people, I was not kidding. 

In those first two weeks that the morning sickness hit, I lost 13 lbs. It took me until around week 20 to gain back what I had lost. It was incredibly awful. The Zofran helped me stop losing weight and I was finally able to eat, but not much. 

I got around a month into the second trimester and suddenly life was good. I wasn't sick. I had energy and wasn't tired all the time. My mood was great and I started to feel my baby move. Soon after that we found out the gender. And cue pregnancy amnesia. This little flashback to my first trimester has been a good reminder. It has also prepared me a little more for the third trimester, which I hit next week. It won't be all rainbows and unicorn poop anymore. I know I'm going to get so uncomfortable and miserable in this last stretch of time. 

Au revoir, second trimester, you've been good to me. Hello third trimester, please be more gentle than the first trimester was. And let us all avoid pregnancy amnesia as long as possible. 

Confession #7

Confession #7

I feel spoiled that I get to feel my baby move all the time and no one else does.

Can we just talk for a minute about how cool it is to feel your unborn baby move? All you mommies out there know what I'm talking about! My baby wakes me up in the morning by moving around. He's already like, "Mommy!!! Wake up and feed me!" You know, practice makes perfect. And, since my husband goes to work ridiculously early, I don't wake up for another two hours after he goes to work, so Jaden doesn't get to feel the morning gymnastics routine. Oh, and on the weekends, he sleeps longer than me so he doesn't get to feel then either.

Baby loves to kick me but, as these things go, when he's kicking and I want someone to feel, he stops. Then it's just me and the person's hand on my belly and it's awkward... And I'm just thinking, "for real Baby? Now you stop?!" 

Over the holiday weekend, we went to see my parents at their new house. Luckily, this house is only 7 hours away instead of like 11. Still, getting there was and back was a chore because I was incredibly uncomfortable the whole time. Anyway, on with the story. One night, we were all sitting in the living room watching a movie or something, and my mom decided she wanted to feel the baby move. She stuck her hand on my belly and waited. I was like...uhhhh....he's not really moving right now. But, Jaden then had a little chat with his son and Baby threw in a few squirms for her. 

What I've noticed is that Jaden can talk to him a little Baby does exactly what Jaden says. It's weird. One night Baby was kicking me in the most uncomfortable of places and just would NOT stop. I asked Jaden to "have a little talk with his son about it." He rubbed my belly and asked Baby to stop kicking me, and you know what? He did! Father-son bond much? 

Anyway, I am so lucky. I get to go through my day and feel my son move all the time. It's so cool and I feel spoiled because other people don't get to feel it. It is seriously the most marvelous thing ever. And, even though he kicks all the time and wakes me up, I still just enjoy it. I've been able to feel him for almost 2 months and I'm still not sick of it. Not even a little. 

Special Birthday Confession!

Special Birthday Confession!

I am really happy to be turning 23, but probably not for the reason you think.

Ok so here's the thing. I got married at 21. In the Mormon world, that's a normal age for a girl, if not even a little late. In the non-Mormon world, it's young. Getting married really had nothing to do with age for my husband and I, but rather it just being the right time. We had been together for 4 years when we got married (almost unheard of in Mormon culture). I had finished my school stuff, and it was really just the perfect time for us. 

Living outside the Mormon bubble of Rexburg, I started to feel incredibly young to be married. We were the only people we knew, our age, in our situation. But it didn't really matter, because we had done what was right for us, and it was great. 

I won't lie though, getting pregnant at 22 felt like too young. You already know our reasons for starting a family now instead of later, but man, I was like, holy crap I'm only 22. 

Today, I am 23. 

Age is just a number, but that number makes me feel better. For some reason, in my weirdo mind, having a baby at 23 feels more acceptable than 22. I know, it doesn't make sense. 

This year, I could probably care less about presents and attention. All I wanted was that number. Don't get me wrong though, I won't refuse the presents or attention ;). 

You might be thinking right now, "Albs, you're a weirdo." Well, you would be right. 

Confession #6

Confession #6

I was perfectly comfortable with my changing body, that is, until it became pool season...

Ok. Before you launch into the "what's happening to your body is natural" and "pregnancy is beautiful," let me explain.

First off, I have never been this big before. That's probably common among first time pregnant women. Nonetheless, I was loving my growing bump and the way I looked so dang cute in my little maternity clothes. I wasn't even bothered by the stretch marks or by my older clothes no longer fitting. Seriously, after I got over morning sickness, I hopped on the train to happy-loving-pregnancy land. 

I was still on that train the first day I headed over to the pool for some reading and sun. My bump wasn't all that big yet, so the only uncomfortable part about my poolside afternoon was trying to get sun on the back side of my body without laying on my belly. 

As time went on, though, and my bump grew, things got....strange. 

I started getting...looks. Weird looks. Mean looks. Rude looks. Of course, this could be another case of "pregnancy paranoia," but in the end, whether it is real or in my head is basically beside the point.

Surrounded by the beach-ready bikini bodies at the pool, I started to feel self-conscious. I'm no longer thin, which I was totally cool with, especially because if you don't get a belly while you're pregnant, you probably have a problem. But I still started to feel weird.

Then I started getting the looks. The looks that said, "I look better than you fatty," or "we're hot and young and you are big and pregnant." These looks didn't stop me from going to the pool. At that point, I was hoping that I was just being paranoid. 

Then yesterday I got straight up stared down. It was like the lady wasn't even trying to hide the fact that she was looking at me. Her look was even worse than the others. It felt like cancer-causing rays even worse than the ones from the sun were bearing into me. And her nasty look said, "You don't belong here. Skinny, tan people in bikinis belong here. Go away." 

Suddenly I was all like, "I'm Shamu." 

I went home soon after, feeling not so great about myself and my body. But then I had an epiphany! Don't you just love those!

I am growing a baby. It is by far the coolest thing I have ever done in my life. I get to make a person, and then have a sweet little boy, and be a mom forever. That is beyond awesome. In order to do that, my body has to change, and that is just part of the experience. Yeah, skinny and tan can be beautiful, but I know that pregnancy is beautiful. I am beautiful. My unborn son is beautiful and when he is born he'll be even more beautiful. 

So now I go to the pool, and I look around at all the pretty women (look, not rudely stare...) and think, I belong here too. Then I slip on my sunglasses, pull out my book, and enjoy the sun.