Mother's Day

This year is my third Mother's Day. My first one with a child I can hold. 

I have the day off from work- but not because it is Mother's Day- I am off because it is Sunday- and I have 99% of Sunday's off. 

I asked for one thing for Mother's Day. A day where I can go downstairs, play music, get drunk & paint. A day to do the things I used to do. 

Camerin works. So my carefree day of drinking, painting and being "old chelsea" will have to wait until another day. I have full confidence that I will get that day- it'll just be a few days late.

This Mother's Day- will just be Sunday. And honestly- that's fine. 

But that reality has made me think. In many conversations with mothers about Mother's Day- most of them said that all they wanted was a day off. And through reading countless articles & comments sections- it seems like this is a rarity for them to actually receive. 

Women are scrutinized for apparently never saying what they actually want- but yet- when they do- it seems like they don't receive it. 

They receive flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals and other shit that they don't really need or want. 

What mothers actually need is a fucking break. 

I would bet money that most won't get it. 

I was talking to my mom & she said something about how now I understand why she isn't ever really pumped for Mother's Day. As a kid- every Mother's Day was spent going to two different family functions. She usually had to help provide some sort of food and had to get me & my brother dressed up and all that jazz. For the most part- regular everyday shit- but it was Mother's Day- and she is a mother- yet- it was never about her. 

What I'm getting at is that Mother's Day is kinda bullshit. And isn't really about mothers. It's about making everyone else feel good about the fact that they took one day- out of 365 in a year to really tell their mom that they appreciate her. When she spends every day living for them. 

Your candies, cards, flowers, etc are all great. But if you really wanna show you appreciate her- do her job for a day. Give her a break. But that's not reality- because- honestly- no one wants our job. Not even for one day. 

Moms are the most badass people out there. I have the privilege of working with a lot of moms. All of us from different backgrounds, all of us with different situations and struggles- and every one of us is a fucking bad ass. Every one of us is giving our absolute all every single day. I've never worked with anyone who works harder then a mom. We all deserve one day off. A lot of us won't get it- but that doesn't mean we don't deserve it. 

I'm not upset that I won't get a day off on Mother's Day. I've been conditioned to understand that a day off isn't reality. And even if I did get a day off- I probably wouldn't know what to do with myself & I'd probably miss the shit out of my kid & spouse. 

But it's nice to dream. 

#mombod

As a woman- our bodies are almost constantly scrutinized. From an insanely young age we are fed this idea that our value is dependent on how we look and what size we are. 

This idea is something I've struggled with my entire life. At 10 years old it was brought to my attention that my body was wrong and that it wasn't ok or acceptable that I didn't look like the other girls my age. 

I went on my first diet in 6th grade. I was on a diet pretty much constantly until I was 22. At around 25 I entered treatment for an eating disorder and became enlightened to the fact that I had had an eating disorder most of my life. I vowed to beat it and never look back. 

That's impossible. 

4 years later I still struggle everyday. I day dream about starvation and compulsive exercise. I count calories subconsciously and have disgust for my body most days. Thankfully I have learned too much to fully engage in eating disorder behaviors most days- but the thoughts are always there. 

They only got worse after having a baby. Charlie is the greatest gift I've ever received- but the pressure for perfection is even stronger now. But with age & experience- comes new perspective. 

I have a love hate relationship with my body. It loves me & most days- I hate it. 

I treat my body terribly. I have most of my life. I've starved it, taken laxatives, physically beat it, cut it, and more. I've talked bad about it & had disgust for it for as long as I can remember. Never once has it failed me. I've let it down multiple times- but it has never let me down. My body isn't perfect & I don't love the way it looks- but it's strong as hell. It's survived years of an eating disorder, years of self harm, fertility treatment, and pregnancy. It never once faltered. It's time for me to be gentler to it. It's time to treat it right- build it & make it stronger so it can relax a little. It doesn't deserve to work so hard while I tear it down. The first 30 years have been far from easy- and I'm sure the next 30+ won't be either.

I don't need to look like the other girls- in fact- I don't want to. I need to learn self love. To practice the things I preach. To take my own advice- and love the skin I'm in.

Our bodies take such good care of us- and most of the time we repay them by tearing them down, trying to change them & mold them into what we think they should be. Instead of embracing them for exactly what they are. I'm trying to do that. 

I want to exercise & get stronger- but not to change my body- or hurt it. To make it stronger- so it can take a well deserved break. It's carried me through hell & back- being gentler to it & taking care of it is the least I can do. 

Recovery

Recovery is shitty.

Don't get me wrong. I love that I have "beat" my eating disorder. But recovery really sucks sometimes. 

I find myself daydreaming of my sick times. Daydreaming of binges, restrictions, starvation, calorie counting, diet obsessing, over exercising. All of it. And often times it actually seems fun. 

Somebody I spoke with recently said "it gives me something to do" when talking about calorie counting. I couldn't help but relate to that, agree with that, and be a bit envious. 

In this haze of post pregnancy life I feel like I have nothing that is mine anymore. My existence as chelsea, just chelsea is gone. And in those moments- I dream about my eating disorder. The glorified portions of it. The "good" things I got out of it. In those moments it's hard to see the sickness for what it is. 

But I'm "recovered" now. Even if I were to engage in any eating disorder behaviors- they wouldn't work. They would only end up making me feel worse. The thrill is gone. The high I used to get when I hadn't eaten for days is a thing of the past. Sometimes that makes me sad. Sometimes I miss the way it felt. The so-called control I had.

Because even though it was destructive- it was mine.