Tag Archives: musings


30 Jul

Have you guys ever been to a point where you are so overwhelmed that your head no longer holds thoughts- just a continuous buzzing?  Yeah, that’s where I’m at. Heady-explode-y.

So much stuff has been happening, I don’t even know where to start. On the same day we went in for the lap consult, we got an offer on our current apartment, which means we’re one step closer to moving into our shiny new place and I can start getting my nesting on. My lap is scheduled for this Thursday, and I’m spending the next few days running around doing all sorts of paperwork and pre-op blood work and doctor’s appointments. Things are insane.

On our way to the lap consult, Shmerson told me something that’s kind of been echoing in his mind. He says he feels like a 15 year old impersonating an adult. We’re buying and selling real-estate, we’re applying for mortgages, we’re going into doctors’ offices with binders full of my medical history. He’s writing emails to his professors asking for extensions because “his wife is going in for surgery”.


I feel the same way. I feel like a total impostor sometimes. I really do. How the heck can I act like an adult when I basically barely have any clue who I am? There are days that I just want to say “fuck it all” and just party. Or something. Ok. I’m not much of a party animal. But sometimes it’s just too much. I just want to hang out and have someone else worry about my tubes for a change.

But things only get stranger from here. With all of this going on,  I’m actually relatively CALM. I’m not in a hurry so much any more with the getting knocked up. Not because I want it any less. But just because I’m starting to realize that before I get knocked up things need to calm the frak down. We need to move. I need to get through this lap. I need to find a new job. Shmerson needs to get through his exams and find a new job. There’s so much to do. We need to get our stability on.

Today, Shmerson and I were talking. He told me that he wishes all of this sucky stuff hadn’t happened during our first year of marriage. He said: “Why couldn’t we have had like, 5 years of ignorant wedded bliss before all this crap happened?”

I answered in a particularly zen way: “If we had 5 years of ignorance, then we probably wouldn’t have appreciated them.”

The thing is – we keep on talking about wanting things to get “better” already. What is “better” anyway?

I don’t think there’s ever a place of perfection. And you know what? I’m not so much of a fan of the “Happy Ending.” Because then things end. I like this whole living thing, thank you very much.

So no happy endings for me. Happy being. Happy living. Not even that. Contentment. I think that’s what I’m striving for now. Calm.

Heck  – I’ll take a week without depression. A baby would be nice too. But there’s stuff to be done first.

Ok I’m rambling. This is going to be one of those long rambling posts so you guys may as well grab a cup of tea and settle in.


Are you back? Ok then.

I went to visit PM last week.  I held her little one in my arms for close to half an hour. Half an hour of complete calm and peace that proved to me that this is completely what I want.

And yet

PM is overwhelmed. She’s going through some serious crap. She looked at me with this terribly sad face and said “I’m not the same person any more”.

I’ve known her for 15 years. I knew she was serious. This isn’t the postpartum depression talking. Being a mom changes you. It’s a huge transition.

I’ve always known that but this is the first time I saw the “downside” of it. The intimate and dark part. The part no one really likes to talk about. Looking at her, and her amazing baby, I realized that it’s ok if we take some time to get our life in order.

I don’t want you to misunderstand me. PM is so happy to have the little one here. She loves him. But she’s mourning a part of her that is gone. The 15 year old that’s playing the adult. Now there’s no play. There’s just adult. That’s  a scary proposition.


Shmerson and I have both been guilty of trying to get too much done at once. There’s always a list. One hundred things that would make us better, happier, whatever.

But we both make the same fatal mistake over and over: We try to do it all at once, fail miserably, and then feel bad about ourselves.

What is “better” and how do we get there?

Well – you certainly can’t get there when you’re running around like a crazy person trying to do it all. No one is super human. There’s only so much you can do.

When Shmerson and I started talking about taking a break from TTC a couple of weeks back, I once again started a list. Lose weight, quit smoking (again), find a new job, exercise more, try to get a film off the ground (again), bla bla bla bla bla.

Up until now, I would have tried to tackle all of this. All at once. Now.

But here’s what PM taught me: Slow. The Fuck. Down.

At my shrink’s on Wednesday she told me something very simple: “Let’s just start with a job.”

Yeah, let’s. Let’s get through this lap and start with a job. One thing at a time.

You fall fast when you hit rock bottom. I hit rock bottom somewhere over the last couple of months. But the climb is slow. And it’s not always easy. But it has to be done to pull yourself out of the muck.

As much as Shmerson and I are overwhelmed right now, I recognize that we’re in the midst of a slow climb. A climb towards “better”, whatever that is. But we’re climbing. We’re not perfect. But we’re climbing. Hopefully, this time, one step at a time. And that’s as good a place to start as any.

To make up for this rather heady and rambly post- proof that I’m not the only one in the family with a bunny fetish:

Luna and one of her many stuffed bunny toys.

Debbie Downer

20 Jul

A post over on Keiko’s blog prompted me to go sifting through my archives a bit. I’ve been kind of off lately in terms of my blogging mojo. I’ve been wondering about it quite a bit. I used to post about once a day. Now it’s down to about twice a week. And it’s not that things aren’t going on. I have a life outside of the blocked tube, and it used to be that every little blip in my life would get written up here in some form. So what happened?

I think I have a tendency toward extremes. A lot of talk at my therapist’s office lately has been aimed at this particular space. Not in a bad way, per se, but in terms of how it had taken over my life almost completely. For example, in regards to my career, instead of examining realistic options, I would always just go to “I wish I could just make a living off of my blog.” My social life – all bloggy friends. My communication with real life friends – through here as well. It was taking over every aspect of my life.

So naturally, because I am a woman of extremes, as soon as this was pointed out to me, I immediately stopped blogging. Which really, is just plain silly. Balance. It’s a good lesson, don’t you think? Wish I’d learn it sometime.

I used to log on every night, pop on some Florence and the Machine and just type type type away. Even when I didn’t know where I was going with a post. Even when I didn’t have any readers, this space was a place for me to work through stuff. Lately it hasn’t been.

Honestly? I think it’s because I’m not working through stuff in general. I mean, I’m trying, but there are things I just don’t want to confront right now. I’ve been genuinely concerned about my own emotional well-being, and instead of working on it, I’ve just been obsessing quietly about it in my head. Which isn’t really healthy at all, is it?

I guess because now I know people actually read my ranty little musings I’m afraid of being a downer. Which is so stupid, because that’s just how I am in real life – always afraid to burden others – and I came to this place as an outlet for my feelings, a place where I won’t feel like a burden to others.

So I’m officially giving myself permission to post even if I am a downer in the near future. I apologize in advance. I’m going through some stuff.

Though I promise to throw in an occasional animated gif or snarky rant. Because you guys deserve a little something for putting up with my current Debbie Downer status.

Coming up tomorrow: I’m going to Twofer’s office to beg for a (possibly) unnecessary surgical procedure! We’re gonna come to a decision about Ole’ righty this week. It’s time. The stabbing pains in my lower abdomen demand it. Do they make animated gifs for stabby pains? I’ll have to look into that.

In the meantime, here’s an unbalanced bunny. Cause bunnies are cute.

Until tomorrow!

The Atheist Prays (and other musings on existential crises)

17 Jun

So I’ve been really down the last couple of days. I’m still pretty sure about our decision to count on Ole’ Lefty, but I feel like I’m already preparing myself for the next inevitable loss. I mean – my luck has been so crappy thus far – I highly doubt I’ll catch a break. The bottom line is I’m scared out of my wits.

I spent the day going back and forth in my head about this decision. Debating. Discussing. There was even an emergency call to my shrink to talk it over with her, in which as usual, she dropped some wisdom and perspective on my ass. Basically, she said I’m upset not because of the decision, but rather because neither decision is ideal. She also pointed out that on a lot of levels, what we have is good news, because my body has been deemed healthy enough for us to try again naturally. A wise woman indeed.

But all of that didn’t do much to allay my fears. I keep on googling incessantly to try to figure out what the chances are of a left side ovulation going into the right tube. And Dr. Google is failing me miserably.

I’ve written here quite a bit about my general heathenism. I have a serious issue with organized religion, and I don’t really know what I believe in. I would categorize myself as an atheist, yet today, I found myself trying to bargain with god, or fate or the universe, or something.

It was toward the end of my yoga class, where I’ve been avoiding twists due to the fact that my right side is still sore from the HSG (is that normal, BTW?).

We were sitting in a sort of meditation and I found myself speaking to the heavens:

“God, or Universe, or Fate, or whatever you are – please make this work. Please let me get pregnant through the correct tube and let this baby stick. I promise that if you do I’ll believe in you. Please prove to me that there is something out there by granting me this one humble request.”

This whole bargaining thing kind of caught me off guard. I surprised myself with this internal monologue. But Twofer’s words keep on echoing in my head: “God owes you one.” And “all you can really do at this point is pray.”

My shrink and I have been talking quite a bit about how this whole repeat miscarriage thing is a manifestation of this ongoing existential crisis that I’ve had for as long as I can remember.

At the age of 8, I realized that I was going to die, and that I didn’t believe in God, and I had my first ever panic attack right there on the spot (just like any normal 8 year old, right?).

Since then, I’ve been plagued with anxiety and a constant search for some sort of comfort or spiritual direction, with no luck. I’m a born skeptic. This may sound pompous, but I’m too smart for my own good. I out-smart myself all the time and go into fits of circular logic.

I know I’m kind of rambling here. But I do have a point – I think.

I wish I could have faith. I wish I could just plug my nose and dive in and be sure that everything will be alright, because “God owes us one.”

But instead, I’m back to Einstein. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. Statistically, I’ve already been screwed in every way possible. there’s only a 5% chance of infection from a D&C, and I fell into that percentile. There’s like – what? a 1% chance of an ectopic? Check. About a 40% chance of a repeat ectopic? Double check. Not to mention that there’s only a 15% chance every month for a woman to get pregnant and somehow Shmerson’s super sperm have managed twice to swim up a partially blocked tube and knock me up against all odds on the first month out of the gate, not to mention his first bulls-eye which led to the Blighted Ovum.

So – the chances of Ole’ Lefty not picking up the egg from my left ovary and it swimming over to Righty instead are most likely slim. But I’m apparently a freak of nature. Statistics count for nothing.

So all I have left is prayer. And that’s kind of a crappy place to be when you’re an atheist who has been in a constant existential crisis for over two decades.

Today I sat there and begged the universe for proof of some meaning. I bargained. I hoped beyond all hope that there was something – anything – listening.

I wish I was a believer. Maybe then all of this would make sense on some level.

But for now, I’m stuck somewhere between Einstein and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, sitting in a Yoga class, begging for some faith, and making deals with someone or something that I generally don’t think actually exists.

Maybe that’s the definition of insanity.

Virtually Me

26 May

We interrupt our pre-planned Anniversary Week Post for a bit of self reflection. 

I had my regular weekly therapy appointment today, and the same subject came up that has come up at practically every session for the last month.

Here’s a rundown of how it’s gone each and every week:

  • I bitch for a couple of minutes about being in limbo-land since That happened.
  • I then move on to beating myself up over not doing enough about my health and the fact that I’ve gone back to smoking (yes, I have, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me) and I barely make it to yoga once a week.
  • Then I spend another few minutes defending that, and saying, that really, I’m doing pretty Ok, all things considered. Especially compared to the last time.
  • I then proceed to beat myself up about not doing enough to promote my new internet content business, and not being able to find the motivation to get moving on ANYTHING that involves my career.
  • Then I talk about this blog. And the women I have met through this blog. A LOT.
Today my therapist finally called shenanigans. She said it was time to discuss what it is about this space that takes up so much of my time and energy, for better and for worse.
You see – I’ve kind of been skating around the issue here, because I’ve been skating around it in general, but ever since That happened I’ve barely left the house. I barely see my friends. I barely do much of anything outside of blogging, reading other people’s blogs, emailing fellow bloggers, and skyping with my bloggy BFF’s. This has become my life. A virtual bubble that I keep myself locked in. And really, it’s not only since That happened that I’ve been doing this. I’ve been doing this more or less since I first realized that I was part of a “community”. Since I found out that there was a little place on the interwebs with hundreds, if not thousands of women just like me.
And as my readership grew, as my friendships grew, as my google reader bloated up, I found myself detaching more and more from everything else. My full time job is this blog – at least in my mind and spirit it is. My part time job is the one that actually supports my family. This is not healthy. I know it isn’t.
So at therapy, we started to examine why this is. We were out of time before we got very far (most of the time having been already spent with my usual bitching and self-flagellation) but I’ve been thinking about it ever since I left our session, and tonight really started to put things in perspective.
Allow me to try to make sense of things:
I have friends. A lot of friends. Some of them I see once every couple of months, some of them I see and talk to more often. But all of these people love me and I truly love them.
But since more or less my first miscarriage last year, I’ve found myself getting more and more distant from most of them. I don’t reach out. I don’t communicate. I spend most of my real life isolated, and busy beating myself up for messing up one thing or another. For not being good enough.
On the other hand there’s here. If I had to say which version of myself was the “real me”, more often than not these days I would say the “real” me is not that self-flagellating hermit. The real me is Mo. It’s this irreverent, snarky, funny, open person. This person who supports and gives advice when called for, and is supported when called for.
This uncensored, open book. I love Mo. I love her dearly. She is the real me. The essence of who I truly am.
And yet, I’m not her in real life. I don’t live up to her. Mo isn’t a persona. She’s not a construction. Mo is the person I aspire to be in real life, but never really get there. I’m more real here than I am with my own freaking mother. I’m more real here than I am with my friends (so it’s lucky most of them read this blog, so that technically I am real with them). This is me.
That self-flagellating hermit going through the motions of my life – she’s the persona.
Tonight was the first night I’ve really gone out since That happened. An old friend got married. I pulled out a little black dress that barely fit anymore, a pair of spanx (getting into those in my current hormone-fluctuating state was definitely a challenge), and my make up and hair dryer. I shaved the forest that’s been accumulating on my legs for the last month. I waxed and tweezed to make myself semi-presentable. I went to the wedding, and saw a bunch of friends. All of whom I love dearly, and most of whom I hadn’t seen in months.
Now, mind you, part of this is because Shmerson and I moved an hour north of Tel Aviv, back to my hometown, to regroup after our second loss, and most of my friends are in Tel Aviv.
But still – it’s only an hour drive away. And there is such a thing as a phone.
Everybody was genuinely happy to see me. I got a lot of “I’ve missed you”s and “I love you”‘s tonight.
But I also realized why it’s so easy for me to escape and run back to my bubble. Because in the inevitable beginning “how’ve you been?” and “where have you disappeared to?” conversations, I had to tell everyone about That. The first two losses were already known, but I had to tell them about the third.
And I got that look from every one of them. You guys know the look I’m talking about. That sympathetic, slightly uncomfortable “I love you and I’m sorry but I don’t know how to comfort you” look. I hate that look. I love the people who gave me that look, but I still hate that look. And here is the crux of it all: I had to tell them about that, so I had to deal with “the look”.Because I can’t lie to people I love. I had to tell them, and all the while I felt like shit for being such a fucking downer. For making them have to face the crap that Shmerson and I are facing.
This is how I feel with all of my friends. I feel guilty. I know they want to be there for me. I also know that most of them don’t know how to be there. I want to be my real self, the irreverent, snarky, honest, and confident Mo that so many of you read every day. But that’s impossible. Because my “real life friends”  don’t know what to do when the honest comes out. They don’t know how to deal. It’s not their fault. They really do try their best, and I love them for it. It’s just how it is. Or maybe they do know how to deal, and I just don’t give them a chance because I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t know.
So I escape. I escape into this little virtual bubble where I’m the real me. Where having a conversation with one of my bloggy BFFs can easily shift from discussing my cervical mucus to talking about a good book within seconds, and without a second thought. Where I don’t have to deal with the guilt of being the downer. Where I don’t have to hide my losses and my pain, and at the same time I can show my sense of humor. I can beat myself up over crap. And for some reason a bunch of people find that interesting enough to read. And all of you accept me for who I am. It’s not that my “real life” friends don’t. I just think that for them, it’s much messier. They haven’t been where I am. They try their best. I love them for it. But I sense that sometimes, they just don’t know what to say or do with me.
In “real” life – I criticize every word I say, and everything I do. Here – a badly written post is no big deal, and there are some posts that I’m so proud of, that I spend hours or even days high on the feedback of writing something good, or particularly funny. I don’t have that kind of confidence when it comes to the work I do for my clients, or even the feedback I give to my students.
Here – I don’t have to TRY. I just am. Whatever comes, it’s accepted. Without “the look”. Without that feeling of helplessness I sense from even my closest friends “in real life” when I say words like “Beta” or “HSG” or “ectopic”.
My dad gave me shit the other day about the important place that this blog has been given in my life. He told me to “get over it already” and to stop “pouring salt on the wounds.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe being here on some level perpetuates the fear. Perpetuates my constant need to deal with my losses.
Or maybe – just maybe – this place is my saving grace. It’s my safe haven. It’s the one place where I am strong enough to love myself and forgive myself for my fuck ups. It’s the one place where I’m unapologetic. Guilt-free. I am who I am, and I feel loved for it.
Don’t get me wrong. I know that my “real life” friends love me for me. But I feel like a burden to them. It’s my own self-flagellation that limits my friendships. I love my friends dearly, and I think it’s because of that fact that I sometimes can’t bring myself to “burden” them with my situation.
Tonight, at the wedding, I really wanted to let loose and dance. I couldn’t bring myself to until the very end, just as Shmerson and I needed to leave. I spent the last 15 minutes or so dancing like a maniac. Hugging my friends. Feeling the love, so-to-speak.
I wish that was how I was all that time. That version of me is easy. That version of me doesn’t point at her two butterflies and wonder aloud whether she needs to get a third. That version of me doesn’t feel guilty and constantly isolated from the world around her.
But that version of me is a mask. Every day, in my real life, I wear it. Around my parents, around my clients, my students, and most of my friends – except the ones who read this blog and know what’s going on. And with them, I just feel guilty. I feel like a pill. Like a burden.
Here in this virtual bubble – to quote my therapist – I feel “held”. Accepted. I don’t have to deal with “the look”. I don’t have to deal with uncomfortable silences that arise when people who love me just don’t know what to say to comfort me.
I feel like I’ve rambled on here quite a bit. But here’s my point: I know I have to find a balance. I know this little virtual bubble I’ve created for myself is not a healthy one, because I’ve taken it too far. I know I need to step outside. Deal with “the look” and find a way to be Mo in real life. Because that’s who I am. That’s who I want to be every day. And frankly, I’m sick and tired of being a hermit.
I just don’t know how the hell to do it. Because I feel guilty. Because the real world doesn’t “get it” the way you guys do. Because in the real world, I am different from everyone around me. I am grieving. My body is betraying me. I’m at war with myself.
Here – I belong. I am “held”.
So I give it over to you, dear readers – have you found yourself falling in too deep in this virtual bubble of ours? Any advice on how to bring out my inner Mo in real life and strike a balance?
I await your usual depth and eloquence. Not just my bloggy friends – to my “real life” friends who are reading this – I know it can’t be easy to read. I want to hear (or read) what you have to say.
Thanks. I love you all. Truly.

Random Ramblings

9 Feb

I’m hella-tired. It has been a long few days (the fam business is in chaos mode because of a deadline so it’s been crazy. luckily now that my dad and I are getting along it’s much more bearable than it used to be). But all around, brain fried, heady-explodey.

So – I will be completely not funny, not eloquent, and perhaps even not interesting in this post (really makes you want to keep on reading, doesn’t it?)

* I’m waiting till the weekend to pair up all the choco-buddies. I just want to amass enough so that the pairings make sense. Also – people have been commenting that the button doesn’t work. Anyone out there want to give me a hand on how to fix the code in there? Me too tired to google. Me confuzzled.

* I hate databases. It’s kind of insane that I’ve been trained at “the finest” film schools in the world and I spend most of my day on excel spreadsheets. No wonder I don’t have the energy to write.

*No – I didn’t watch “go” today. Bad me! Bad bad me! But I will forgive myself because it’s currently past midnight on my side of the globe and I have been up and working since 8am. Only watching stupid stuff in the background while dealing with what feels like a million spreadsheets. Excel – I don’t like you very much.

* I’ve had to cancel lunch with my mom twice this week already – we re-scheduled again for tomorrow. I’m working late on purpose now so that hopefully I can actually make it this time (the pros and cons of working from home).

*I’m really bitching about work a lot right now, aren’t I?

* on a different note – I haven’t officially announced this yet – but starting next week I will be teaching film! Once a week, tenth grade. I’m really excited! 🙂 I’ve got a bunch of lessons planned out in my head. Now if I could find time to write those out as well… (this is me in over-achievement mode again. anyone feel like helping me sort out my priorities?)

* My cousin, who works in alternative medicine, called today to recommend an acupuncturist in my area. Knowing there is no way Shmerson and I can afford it, I told her that I’d get the number from her “when things are a bit less crazy”. Being the amazing lady that she is, I think she read the undertone of “holy crap I can’t afford this” in my voice, immediately called my mom, who immediately called me and insisted that she will pay for the treatments. That is incredibly sweet of her. I know a bunch of you ladies are riding the needle train. Any advice?

* Have you guys noticed a change in my tone over the last week or so? I didn’t mention this for some reason but last week my shrink adjusted my meds (again!) because he thought the zoloft was too much. We switched around to 2 Xanax XR’s a day and half a pill of zoloft and it seems to be working like a charm. I feel wonderful and incredibly balanced. I’m really glad I found a shrink who knows how to “fine tune” these kinds of things (some have a tendancy to just prescribe one pill, then another to balance the first, then a third, and sometimes a fourth. I’m glad I trusted him enough to stick to his plan). I really feel like I’m almost back to my old self. At least closer to her than I’ve been in years.

I am however really worried about the xanax. I’ve heard a bunch of horror stories about how it can be addictive. My shrink says that most of them are BS and the people who get addicted to it use it recreationally and not to treat an actual condition, so he’s not really worried about that. The one thing that I’m a bit concerned about is that xanax and pregnancy do not mix. He said that no matter what, it’s been proven safe in the first trimester, and once I’m preggo we can find alternatives. But for some reason I’m still apprehensive about this. I do trust him completely because he is very respectful of my concerns – I guess I’m just paranoid (two miscarriages will do that to you, I suppose).

* Our house is a complete and utter disaster zone. Shmerson has been working and studying like mad for the last two weeks since he’s got a bunch of exams, and I haven’t had time to do anything, and when I did I was too busy writhing in pain from that stupid back thing (which is almost gone, thank goodness). I wish we could afford a maid. I feel like such a slob right now. And for those of you reading who know what our place usually looks like – it’s ten times worse right now. I would upload a pic, but I can’t stand the shame of it. No gold star for us this week.

* I miss yoga. Because of my back I couldn’t go all last week, and this week it’s stupid stupid work. I will go tomorrow. I must go tomorrow.

* Things have been moving in a really great direction really fast over the last couple of weeks. From the teaching job, to settling on my next writing project, to, well, everything. The downside? I tend to take on too much at once, and I’m afraid I may be doing that again. Note to self: Make a couple of lists, get your schedule settled, and for goodness sake, clean the house! The good news is that unlike in the past – I am actually AWARE of this stuff and trying to get it under  control. Progress!

* For some reason AF is making my appetite INSANE. And I keep on buying oreos, and then having oreos and milk like, three times a day. This is a first in terms of AF, usually I go for burgers. Weird. Maybe I should just stop buying the oreos? Yes, that would be a good idea.

* did I mention how much I hate excel spreadsheets?

* Ok I’m done now

* ramble ramble ramble

* Really done now. Sleepy-time for me!

The Upside of 2 Miscarriages

7 Feb

Yes – your eyes are not deceiving you. I’m four months after the 2nd MC, and less than a month away from my first due date. There’s been a lot of bitching, yearning, wishing, and moaning on this blog, but I think it’s time to look at the upside. I’m not a “glass half full” person usually, but since I’m making a huge effort to improve my life, I want to see what this half full thing is all about for a change. So here we go – the upside of having 2 miscarriages:

1) Anesthesia Shmanesthesia!

My first pregnancy was a blighted ovum, and I needed a D&C under general anesthesia. I had never had to have that in my life, and it scared the crap out of me. Now that I’ve been through it once, I know that I’ll feel better about it if I have to go through it again.

2) From on the fence to all aboard

Shmerson and I decided to TTC together, but when I got my first BFP, he seemed a bit apprehensive and unsure about it all. After the first MC, he realized how much he really wanted to, and was ready to be, a father.

3) Love Thy Body

I never really took good care of myself. Smoking, caffeine, not exercising enough, yo-yo weight loss and gain. I was never really “connected” to my body. Even before getting pregnant for the first time, it was an issue I was contending with. Going through this has made me take a serious look at how I treat my body, and has made me work on treating it better. So far, I’ve cut my caffeine intake in half, I go to yoga 2-3 times a week, and I have a plan in place to quit smoking for good. I’ve had blood tests done for the first time in about a decade, and I’m very aware of every message my body sends me. It means I spend just a bit too much time on Dr. Go Ogle, but I am treating my body with respect for the first time in my life, more or less.

4) De-nile is once again only a river in Egypt (current political situation notwithstanding)

Hitting the inevitable wall of my existential crisis has made me deal with my mental health issues properly for the first time. I’m more aware of my mood swings, I’m taking care of what I can from a happy-pill perspective, but more importantly, I am, for the first time examining what lies beneath my anxiety and depression.

5) Hi life, nice to meet you!

I have learned that quick decisions will most likely lead to heartbreak and regret, and I understand the importance of thinking small. Not every decision has to be one that changes my life, and not every decision has to come from a place of pure practicality or pure fantasy. In short – I’m finally living my own life, rather than imagining another one while living something that is making me unhappy.

Even more importantly, I have stopped denying myself the pleasure that is spending time with the people I love. My family, and my amazing friends who have stuck by me through all of this (I know you’re reading this – I love you guys!)

6) Scenes from a Marriage

I have not been a picnic during these last 7 months. And shmerson and I have only been married for 8. This basically means that most of the first year of our marriage will always be remembered as one of the most difficult times in my life, and his as well, I’m sure. However, the fact that we’re still together, we’re still honest with each other, we still take care of each other, and we still love each other proves that we can get through almost anything and make it to the other side together.

7) Me, meet Me. It’s time you got to know each other.

Me: remember when we used to be completely detached from our feelings?

Me: yeah, that kinda sucked for us.

Me: yep. it did.

Me: it still kind of sucks because sometimes I’m not sure if we’re making decisions for ourselves or for the approval of the people around us.

Me: That’s true. But at least now we’re looking into it. That’s progress.

Me: Good point.

Me: Hey! look at that! We finally agree on something!

Me: *sneaks off to watch “16 and pregnant”*

Me: hey – come back here! We’re not done blogging yet.

Me: right. Ok.

8 ) Embracing the Process, Finding Perspective

I’m in a battle every day. For my sanity, for my identity, for my future, and for my family. I’m fighting to regain myself. I’m fighting to re-build myself, brick by brick. It’s a battle, but within that I have a new sense of perspective. I have always been a drama queen. Now that I know what real drama is, my imaginary dramas very rarely take over my life. It’s a battle I’m embracing. It’s a battle I’m celebrating. I’ve discovered strength I never believed I had, and I am beginning to accept and forgive my weaknesses.

9) This Blog O’mine, These Ladies O’mine

As a person who has been introducing herself as a writer/director for the last decade or so, I admit, I’ve done very little writing in the last few years. I lost my passion for it. This blog, which was started from a place of darkness and despair, has now rekindled my passion for writing. I look forward to every word I write and publish here. I have small moments of victory when I know I’ve come up with something funny or profound. But more importantly, I am teaching myself to create without judgement. I publish my crappy posts. I publish my good posts. I don’t judge myself, I just write.

About two weeks into this blog, when I thought I was only writing for myself and a tiny handful of friends, SLC from Holy Crap! commented on one of my posts. I thought to myself “who is this chick and how the heck did she find me?”, and then I thought “thank goodness that she did.” She was my doorway into the amazing community and support that I have found here. She was my first shoulder, my first light at the end of the tunnel, and the first person in the world I found who just “got it.” I will always be grateful to her for this, and I am so happy to say that beyond this blog, I have found her as a true friend for life. (sorry lady, you’re stuck with me and you know it!)

And she was just the first. She was my foot in the door.

From there came Elphaba (aka the funniest and one of the most profound writers I have ever had the pleasure of reading, not to mention an all-around awesome chick), Bodega Bliss (my sister from another mother), Marie (my voice of reason, who always gives the best advice ever), Hemlock (the “can you please stop writing everything that’s going on in my head?” lady), Kristin (my purple-haired, generous role model for supporting other women in our little community), Missohkay (my ray of hope in the face of  being not exactly IF) and so so so many other amazing women (it would take dozens of posts to mention  all of you, but know that you are loved, and man, is this feeling like an oscar speech or what? I’d like to thank the Academy while I’m at it). These women, you amazing women, who make me laugh, make me cry, and most of all, make me feel like I am not alone – to say that you are awesome, amazing, inspiring, and all-around spectacular is an understatement.

I never really believed that something as simple as a blog would make me discover a whole new community. Would make me feel so loved. You ladies will forever mean the world to me. Sorry I’m gushing. It happens on occasion. You all do it too sometimes so there. 🙂

10) When the day finally comes….

That I hold a baby in my arms, that will be mine, no matter what journey Shmerson and I take to get there, I will truly and fully appreciate the miracle. I will fully understand and acknowledge, and feel eternally grateful to hold that blessing in my arms.

I guess the glass is even a bit more than half full.

Mood swing much?

17 Jan

Me: So – what do you want to blog about today?

Me: Don’t know, don’t care. Whatever.

Me: I was really hoping we could talk about the way we swing between hope and hopelessness.

Me: uh huh. sure.

Me: you know, and then our instinct is like “hey! just get pregnant again!” and our voice of reason tells us not to?

Me: yeah dude whatever I’m bored.

Me: shut up!

Me: No seriously, we’re starting to repeat ourselves

Me: yes, well that’s how we feel.

Me: don’t care. feel like we may as well just put on a really annoying song on repeat. That would be more interesting to me at this point.

Me: come on, don’t give up! Remember? this is a healing process and all that good crap.

Me: yeah, dude, whatever I just want to get on with my life.

Me: You disappoint me.


Me: Really? Resorting to that, are we?

Me: Hey Mickey you’re so fine you’re so fine you blow my mind hey mickey! Hey Mickey!

Me: Oh shut up and go to bed already. We’ll continue this tomorrow.

Me; fine. Whatevs.

Patience. Again. Always

7 Jan

I admit – I ‘ve had a bit of a relapse in terms of depression and anxiety the last few days. I think the blood pressure thing kind of freaked me out.

Mind you – thanks to the wonders of zoloft and xanax it’s not nearly as bad as it could have been.

But the last few days I admit to backsliding quite a bit.

There is one main difference in the way I handled it this time around though – Today I caught myself. I realized that I was backsliding. And I made the decision to stop it. I met up with friends, and I made plans for the weekend, and I just called people – just to see how they were doing.

And guess what? I already feel a bit better.

It’s amazing what a bit of perspective will do to a person. Really.

Today I met up with an old friend for dinner and I had to catch her up on everything that’s gone down over the last few months. The miscarriages, the depression, the anxiety…

And for the first time I told her about it with a smile. Despite the heavy feeling I’ve been carrying around all day – I managed to get through the story and take it to the positive place.

I also mentioned this blog – and how I feel sometimes that weeks have gone by when it’s only been days, because of the sheer amount of revelations that I continuously have through this newfound clarity.

She said it was lucky I was writing it all down because it’s one thing to have a revelation – and the real challenge is to remember it and act upon it in the long term.

I told her that at the end of the day, all of these little discoveries I make about myself come back to the same theme: patience.

As a person who is used to running, hitting a wall has taught me how important it is to slow the heck down sometimes and just let things progress little by little.

This works against everything I’ve taught myself so far in my life.

But I think that at the end of the day – this will be the lesson I take from this experience. The last few months have been some of the hardest in my life, and I know that the pain and difficulty is far from over.

But I am learning patience. Mostly with myself.

It’s going to be a while before it sinks in fully. But I’ll be patient with myself until it does. 🙂

Everybody hits a figurative wall in their lives sometimes. And those walls are an opportunity to look around, examine, and make a change.

I just didn’t realize it until I finally managed to control my anxiety. Up until now, when I hit a wall – I would just break it down and keep on running.

For now – I will (and should) be content with sitting down, and leaning up against it for a while.

(wow – I am just a well of metaphors tonight, aren’t I?)

Is this hope or just the Xanax talking?

25 Dec

I’ve spent most of today with this unexplained sense of excitement. yesterday there was a bit of a breakthrough with one of my film projects, and tomorrow I’ve got the blood tests – so maybe things are starting to look up?

Or it could just be the xanax. This is why me no likey pharmaceuticals. We shall see.

Musings on Anxiety, Depression, Peace, and Patience

23 Dec

When I don’t know where to start I go chronologically – so please, bear with me. This may be long. Buckle up, make yourself a cup of tea or something.

So I don’t know if it’s the zoloft that’s still kicking in or what, but yesterday was an awful, awful day.

I’ve been trying to avoid taking the xanax (huge mistake) and I spent all morning anxious and detached.

And then things just got worse. I spoke to the psychiatrist and he said (very wisely) if you feel bad, just take it. It’s ok. So I did. the anxiety stopped – sort of, but then a whole other flood of emotions came rushing in.

On Monday night Schmerson and I had a long talk – and at the end of it I “made a decision” that I should stop working for my father, because it’s not good for me emotionally.

Yeah – apparently making big decisions when you’re emotionally unstable  – um, well, that in itself is a bad decision. The whole thing just made me tailspin into a whole new set of confusion.

So I thought yesterday would be a good day. I went to tel aviv and made plans with friends, thinking that would make me feel good. After the xanax, I was in the car on the way to pick up my best friend (same one I saw on friday). Since we don’t use names let’s just call her “Squish” because that’s my nickname for her…

So I pull over to pick Squish up and for some reason I just – collapse. Crying uncontrollably. An absolute mess.

Squish takes control of the situation. She drives us to a coffee shop and I bawl and bawl and bawl.

“Why don’t I have any hope?”

“What’s become of me?”

“I used to be such a strong ambitious person with so many dreams and hopes – what the fuck happened?”

Squish really tried her best to calm me down. And it kind of worked, but on the inside I was still more or less a gaping black hole. No hope. No joy. Emptiness and fear.

Had I had the strength to write a blog entry at that point it would have been titled “Wanted: hope”.

I’ve had bouts of depression before. I’m more of an anxiety person but I know what depression is. Yesterday was beyond depression. It scared the living daylights out of me.

What finally made me sort of calm down was a conversation I had with my brother. He’s six years older than me and we’re incredibly close. I think he understands me better than I understand myself.

He said:

Calm down.

What’s happening to you is that you spent over a decade being a careerist with buttloads of ambition, and now you all of the sudden don’t want that as much. Now you want a family and you don’t know where to place your ambitions in that framework. On top of that you suffered a loss. It’s overwhelming, but it’s not the end of the world.

He reads this blog. He thinks I’m making a mistake by obsessing over wanting another baby so fast.

He said he thinks I need to heal my body and my soul. I may think I’m ready for a baby but right now – well, I’ve got to get my shit together before doing anything else.

I hated hearing that. Knowing that he’s right made it even harder to hear. But he is right. I need to heal. The problem is I don’t know how long it will take and that is and will most likely continue to drive me crazy.

But I am overweight, I’m depressed, I’m confused about my future, and I smoke. That does not a good baby-vessel make.

So fast forward to today.

A small caveat before I go into the rest of this story: I am not a spiritual person. Not even close to it. I’m a cynical skeptic – which probably doesn’t help my anxiety. I lack any sense of spirituality. I wish I had it. I just don’t.

And I started yoga last week.

Talk about skeptical. Yoga always made me think of froofy chicks with dreadlocks who go on month long treks to india and eat lots of curry. I hate curry.

But – something inside me made me think that yoga may be a good place to start getting re-acquainted with my body so I can take better care of it.

So I signed up for an intro course – once a week on wednesdays. Today was the second class. The instructor – an incredibly sweet guy – not only takes us through the moves and positions, he also explains why they are done, and the connection between the mind and the body.

He doesn’t go into anything truly spiritual. He just points out how easily our head clears when we pay attention only to our breathing and movements.

At the end of the class today we sat down and he started talking about the way the mind moves around from one thing to another, and how yoga can be a tool to inner peace by clearing the mind.

I know – it sounds froofy when I write it. But he really does have a point. When I was moving from position to position and paying attention to my breathing my mind was clear. I was calm. which is sooo incredibly rare lately, it’s pretty amazing.

So the yoga instructor said three things that just hit a nerve with me.

The first was this:

“I want a motorcycle. I want it very badly. When I finally get a motorcycle – I will be incredibly happy. Why do you think that is?”

we answered: “because you finally have it?”

He said: “No – because I no longer want it. It’s the relief of no longer obsessively desiring something that causes the happiness – not the fulfillment of that desire.”

The second thing he said:

“When you see a child going through turmoil you embrace the child. why do you scold yourself and when you go through the same? You need an embrace just as much as that child does.”

The third:

“My mind races all of the time. I don’t always know who I am but I use yoga as a way to rule out what I am not. I am not my fear. I am not my stress. I am not my anger.”

By the end of that little talk I was blubbering.

Which I must say is rather embarrassing in front of ten people who I only met last week.

But my god – that man hit a nerve. More than one actually.

Allow me to work my way backwards and again, I apologize that this post is so long.

I am not my fear. I need to remember that. I have spent months consumed by anxiety. So much so that it has become the only thing that defines me.

Yeah – I should stop that.

Embracing myself: I keep on saying that I need to be better! And Now! I need to make decisions and move forward immediately! I am so hard on myself for not being ok. It’s like the xanax. If I need to take it for a little while I need to look at it as an embrace – not a defeat. Why torture myself when I have a way to make myself feel better?

And now the most important thing that I took from what he said:

I want to be happy that my child will be born because I have a child, not because the obsessive desire is gone.

Does that make sense?

I’m an incredibly impatient person. If I didn’t have some restraint, I’d already be trying to get pregnant again – despite everything being so incredibly chaotic.

How terrible and irresponsible is that?

It’s awful.

On one hand, I really and truly want a child. On the other – I really and truly need to heal and bring some stability into my life.

I also need to start moving on. If I want to heal, I need to stop mourning for the person that I was before the loss.

I need to stop mourning. Period. (And this is not from a place of impatience this time – at least I don’t think it is).

It’s not that I can just wave a magic wand and no longer have incredible sadness over the loss of my babies.

However, I can change the way I channel it.

So I am officially changing the direction of this blog. I am now going to try and make it about healing myself. Embracing myself, so to speak. Figuring out my direction in life, and making myself whole again.

I truly believe that would be a far healthier use for this blog.

I will still allow myself to mourn when needed.

To talk about the miscarriages when needed.

But I want to start talking about healing.

I want a child. And I want to be happy when that child comes for the child itself – not because the obsession has cleared from my mind.

It’s going to take more patience and self-embrace than I’ve had – well, ever. But I think it’s time I do things right for a change.

Yoga – go figure.


Just a stupid thing I wanted to share

21 Dec

When I finally do manage to get (and stay) pregnant, at around seven months, when my belly is huge, I am going to cafepress and custom making myself a maternity t-shirt.

The T-shirt will be purple, and in the center of it, right where my baby will be i will write in bold black writing:

“I’m with stupid”

And above it, there will be an arrow pointing upward – directly at my face.

On the day I finally get to wear that shirt, I will feel a sense of victory. 🙂

that is all.

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