Here’s what I learned from losing a child. Emotional health is a real thing. It is the foundation that holds up everything else. A wife and mother’s emotional health hold up the whole household. Without it, everything crumbles. I’m not a #selfcare Instagram-style person.
That type of self-care assumes that one’s family is a burden and getting away from them is self care. Self care is being honest with oneself about where you are and how you are doing. And allowing the time and the physical strength necessary to process things that happen, to deal
with grief, to slow down to process change, to recognize feelings of helplessness, or just not feeling like yourself. To give yourself the time you need too get to where you need to be, and not sacrifice the most essential things for proof or feeling of accomplishment.
Self care is about feeling entitled to good things that come your way, not beating yourself up over things that are nonsense, or even important things you worked through already.
Self-care is about self-awareness and recognizing the very real consequences of crumbling emotional health.
Caring for emotional well being comes out of the same bucket as everything else. It takes time, physical energy, etc. But it cannot be neglected.
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I grew up without widespread email in high school. Email came out when I was in college. I remember life before a lot of this technology, but close in time culturally. Our older kids were toddlers before smartphones. Younger kids with.
My take is really that we blame technology for what was going on before and outside smartphones etc. It’s an easy scapegoat. I think it’s exaggerated.
The exception is the objectification of women on the internet, smartphones, which is like a deluge. I can’t speak to that, as a woman, can’t comment on that. Maybe that is truly unprecedented awfulness.
Let me say this about publishing a story about a Holocaust survivor without her photo. This woman is an inspiration. Her photo is not her. None of us are our photographs; not men, not women. Our outer shell is not who we really are.
When someone makes a woman cover her face, limit her vision, block her mouth, limit her mobility by not allowing her to go certain places, there’s a tension between a woman’s right to self-determination and other values, like modesty or covid.
But not publishing a woman’s picture does not limit her. Because she is still her.
My mother is the original domesticated intellectual, which was the name of my blog, and consequently my Twitter handle. She is and always was thoroughly a mother, but also her own person, and seamlessly blended immersive motherhood with intellectual fulfillment.
In my mind there is zero contradiction between a woman who prioritizes motherhood (and being a wife) over all but is constantly learning, thinking, vibrant intellectually.
I was raised that a woman is a person: a soul, a mind, a body, and need not dress a certain way to be worthy or to get attention. She needs to push herself to do the best she can, be the best she can.
I usually drive one of our kids to school in the morning. This morning my husband drove them. I’m appreciative but I’m sad because I missed out on spending that few minutes with them.
Getting big, thank G-d.
Little kids are really challenging. Wanting a break from caring for them is just human. But the more breaks you get, the less bonding time you have. So breaks definitely are excellent. Take and enjoy. Breathe. Refresh. But if breaks are constant, you miss out.
This is the falsehood deep in the Instagram style “why am I stuck watching my children on Shabbos and my husband is in shul,doing etc the whole day” First, a husband should help his wife. A wife needs a break on Shabbos. But beyond that, it’s a privilege and one that doesn’t last
As much as Chabad does have a wonderful policy, the objectification of women is not something that ought to be normalized. Pictures of women like this are an invitation to mock women. Applauding it is a slippery slope.
I don’t want to call anyone out, but I’ll say this. I am so grateful that I was the one who grew the babies. Pregnancy is magical. Difficult, uncomfortable, scary but I wouldn’t trade it for anything, anything, anything. The bonding with the baby, the connection to G-d.
It’s almost outside the human experience, to partner with the Divine in that way.
I can’t run as fast as a man. I am not as strong. But I can roughly do what a man does, and was able to carry a baby. No human is ever closer to another than a mother to her unborn baby. The deepest most meaningful experience I could imagine.