So, what do you think?

I had fun with this redesign. It seemed fitting that a new season of our lives, a new locale, and a new year would bring forth a new blog design. It feels so good to have it done and be able to share it with you all.

Whenever I redesign the look of this space it always gets me thinking about why I blog and what I want this space to be. It’s always been hard for me to answer those questions. There are so many reasons why I blog and at different times in life there have been different reasons. And there are so many different things that this space has been for me and that I want it to be in the future. I find it hard to describe those reasons, hard to put into words what bethstedman.com has been, is, and will be for me.

Sometimes when someone asks, I feel a little bit like I’m trying to explain the rules of grammar to a non-native English speaker – “I don’t really know why, but it just sounds right this way”. That’s a bit how I feel about blogging right now. I can’t really explain why, but it is just right. It fits. It’s part of me.

At various times I’ve tried to make this space something that didn’t fit. For example, I would feel guilty about the time I spent blogging and so I would try to make money from the blog, but it didn’t fit (and as you can see the ads are gone). I’m sloooooowly starting to realize something – you shouldn’t feel guilty for what you are. You shouldn’t feel bad for doing something that you have to do, something engrained into the fabric of who you are, something that brings you joy, something that you almost can’t help but do. Dancers don’t feel bad for dancing. Cooks don’t feel bad for cooking. Runners don’t feel bad for running. Mommy’s don’t feel bad for cuddling with their baby.

Me? Well, I write. I have to write. I always have in one form or another. I started my first journal at seven. In junior high i started writing poetry. In high school I would write sermons for fun. I enjoyed writing papers for school and must admit I even wrote one or two of my husbands school papers for him because it was fun and easy for me and tedious for him. But, I don’t just write, I blog. I had always written, but it wasn’t until I started blogging that something really clicked. It stirred something in me. It fit. Suddenly I could do more than just write, I could put something out into the world that others could read, and connect with, and respond to. I was a writer always, but I didn’t really have a voice until I found a platform.

Those of you who have only just stumbled upon this blog, those of you who have been reading my meanderings for years, those of you who have silently stalked, and those of you who have become friends, you have given me my voice. Thank you!

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

I hadn’t realized how nervous I was feeling about Sage’s MRI until I woke up in the night to nurse her and couldn’t get back to sleep afterwards. I just stared at her as she slept beside me. I knew an MRI was the next step we needed to take, but the thought of my baby under general anesthesia of course made me nervous.

In the morning before we left I was a flurry of nervous mommy energy, darting this way and that as I tried to get us out the door. I felt so grateful that my in-laws had taken Thad the night before (his first ever sleep over) and I didn’t have to deal with a two year old along with everything else. There have been so many moments lately when I send up silent thoughts of gratitude that we now live close to family for this season of our lives.

And then we arrived at Seattle Children’s.

And again I said a quick prayer of gratitude that we live where we do. We always had pretty positive experiences with medical things in Prague, and felt well taken care of the few times we went to Prague hospitals for various reasons. But, there is something unimaginably calming when you walk nervously into a hospital building and are quickly greeted by people and signs that speak your language. There was no guess work, there was no translating. Sigh of relief.
But, Seattle children’s wasn’t just a good hospital experience because it was in English. I felt like it was a good hospital experience compared with others in the states as well. Everything was very well organized and structured, the building was clean and even beautiful in places. You could tell things had been well thought through. And well thought though with kids in mind. For example, this was the fun, inviting playground outside our window.

Most of all though, everyone was just so friendly. People smiled and greeted us in the halls and asked if we needed help finding anything (that never happened in Prague hospitals). The doctors working with us really wanted to put us at ease. The anesthesiologist talked with us for quite a while, answering our questions, explaining what they would do, and even sharing stories about his own kids to help put us at ease. They were all very understanding and helpful.

When it came time they brought us and Sage to a prep area. We were able to hold her hand and be with her as they put her under. It was amazing to me how quickly she fell asleep. She looked so peaceful and still. We both gave her a kiss and then went up to Starbucks to wait.

We got back to our room about forty minutes after we left her and waited for them to bring her back in, which wasn’t very long. When she got back she had a breathing tube in her nose. They had her hooked up to a machine to monitor her heart rate and all that. They took her temperature and did a heel prick to check her blood sugar. Everything looked good. She looked so small alone in the little bed. She shivered, we tucked the blanket closer around her. She looked beautiful.

They told us that as soon as she woke up we could hold her and I could nurse her. We waited. They said she should wake up soon. We waited. An hour went by. We waited. That period of waiting for her to wake up was probably the hardest for me. I was glad for the equipment monitoring her and that the doctors regularly checked on her. Eventually she woke up and was starving. We cuddled and nursed.

They wanted to monitor her till 1pm. So we sat and read and cuddled and nursed. Apart from not being completely comfortable those few hours felt a little like a vacation to me. I didn’t have to do dishes, or laundry, or entertain a toddler, or listen to “mommy!mommy!” being screamed at me. Instead I got to just cuddle with my baby and talk and read with my husband for two hours. That part of the day was really nice.

Really the whole experience went as well as it possibly could have. The only negative was that we weren’t able to get an appointment with the neurologist until April. So, as of right now, we won’t know the results of the MRI until then. It’s a little frustrating to have gone through the stress of the MRI and know that there is information available about my daughters condition, but to still not know what that on formation is until April.

We were at least able to get a print out of the report and a cd of the MRI. We are thinking since we have the results we will try and see if we can get into a different neurologist to have someone interpret the results for us sooner. Or…anyone reading this know how to understand brain MRIs??

Whatever happens I find myself being continually reminded to take life one day at a time and to take this change in perceptions and expectations about my daughter one little piece of information at a time.

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

On Friday we braved the snow and slush and went to Seattle Children’s Hospital for another neurologist appointment for Sage. It was the first appointment we had about her microcephaly where the doctor didn’t say, “well, it could be nothing…” the neurologist we saw was thorough, asking a lot of questions and spending a lot of time looking at Sage, checking her reflexes and movements. He was straight forward and clear, telling us that he definitely saw enough to concern him. He told us that her head is now 2.8 deviations and that since her weight and height are on the growth chart it’s called disproportionate microcephaly. He recommended an MRI, saying that it was the best place to start figuring out what is going on and would give us some direction.

And then it happened… He told us he thought we should start having someone work with her and getting her some early therapy. Then he gave us a packet for “children with special needs” It made my head spin…”special needs” I knew Sage had microcephaly. I knew there was a chance that she would have some delays, and although I knew that label was a possibility I hadn’t really imagined it or truly thought of my child as having special needs until that moment.

It was like a reality check for me.

Suddenly I was reminded of when I took a class in college on Teaching Children with Special Needs. I remember feeling convinced during that class, with an irrational intuition, that I was going to have a child with special needs. And I remember begging God to not let that happen. Now I look at Sage and I can’t imagine asking God that I wouldn’t have her and can’t imagine having any other child. But, I still wish I knew for certain that she would be able to live a completely full functioning, “normal” life. But, I knew in that moment that wasn’t a certainty I could have. It may yet turn out that way, but there’s enough concerns that I have to come to terms with the fact that it might not.

I sat there a minute a little stunned still by the term “special needs”.

I couldn’t deny it anymore. I couldn’t justify the fact that she hasn’t met her milestones. I couldn’t keep holding on to the “well, it could be nothing” statements.

All along I have sort of known this was coming. I knew something wasn’t normal. Not in the way you know that two plus two equals four but with an intuitive sort of knowing.

When she was six weeks old I had a vivid dream within a dream where things kept threatening Sage and I had to fight for her and protect her. At the most vivid part I saw a number of wasps and hornets stinging Sage. I woke up still in the dream and preceded to dream that everything that had happened in the dream within a dream was happening in real life. It was after having this dream that I knew we had to schedule Sage’s first well visit with the pediatrician.

Maybe it’s bad for me to say it but I’m glad that we didn’t go in earlier, glad that we had those two months of ignorance, to just be with Sage, bond with her and get to know her. Being able to bond with her without the uncertainties of microcephaly hanging over our head was precious and I’m grateful for it.

But, as we sat with the neurologist I knew that the time of denial was over. It was time for a new season. Time to grow up and face my new reality. Time to do the research. Time to make the phone calls. Time to get the help. Time to do whatever we can to make sure that my special little girl can have the best life possible.

On February 2nd Sage will have an MRI of her head and spine. It will be under general anesthesia. If you pray, pray for her safety, pray that we get the best possible answers, pray that we are able to get the results back quickly (as it is right now our follow up with neurology isn’t able to be scheduled until April – we don’t want to wait that long) and pray that we have no problem getting the MRI pre-approved with our insurance.

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

I love astronomy. The study of celestial objects has always been a source of amazement for me. If you can, for a moment, imagine life before the universe was. God in all his great power and awesomeness, surrounded by angels, looked into the vast blackness of the universe and said “I am lonely”. I sometimes look out at the night sky and wonder, if for just a moment, I could see that. Trust me, that is a terrifying thought.

I have trouble asking God for things, just like I have trouble asking people for things. I have always been independent above all things. I have never needed another human being to do anything for me. This becomes hard for all the wonderful men in my life who want nothing more than to help me when it comes to appliance repair or car repair.

If you have never fixed something, I suggest your try it, it’s amazingly satisfying. When the thermostat broke on my refrigerator, rather than calling in a repair man, I spent a few hours online trying to assess the problem. With all the appliance repair websites online I couldn’t bring myself to call in a professional. Five hours later I found myself the proud owner of a working refrigerator, much to the chagrin of every male in my family who was ready to call up his buddy to fix the problem or fix it himself.

Imagine, if you will, not actually needing anyone for anything. You don’t need your husband to fix your car (this drives men nuts, trust me). That heavy package you just got, you will find a way to get it up the steps all by yourself. Sure no one can help you move your couch up three flights of stairs, but you can do it all by yourself. It’s liberating, but lonely.

Since I moved out of my parents house at 17 (I graduated from High School and moved to my college town that summer) I have never actually needed another human being, except in extreme circumstances, and even then I spent hours trying to find a way to get on by myself. When a bad blizzard hit I drove home very late at night. I made it a large potion of the way through many cars that were pulled over to the side. I was within a few miles of home when the someone in front of me, who couldn’t drive in snow, wrecked, forcing me to stop, leaving me sliding backwards down a hill. I parked my car, climbed out, and was prepared to walk a mile and a half home when an ambulance came by and I accepted a ride, only because it was almost 10pm and I was not prepared to fight wild animals. It’s not within me to need another person. I want people, which is a totally different feeling, and for anyone who feels the same, a lot more intense. “Better with you, but fine by myself,” as a wise friend once told me.

It means my feelings are hurt a lot more and I try twice as hard to hold them in. It means when I love you I really don’t expect you to ever do anything for me, but when you do it’s so amazing and wonderful I can’t help but feel so grateful. When I love you, and I don’t see you I miss you like crazy and want so badly to see my friend, my love, my family, but I don’t want to impose. I think that’s how God feels, but his scale is infinitely larger. Here is this great divine creator who actually can get by without us, but instead, chooses to want people. God created us so he could be with us, not because he needed us, and that is a wonderful feeling.

But here is the catch, we need him. God designed us to need him, and we do, it’s imprinted on our DNA. Everyone is searching for meaning in life, when in the end, being with God is the very reason for our existence. That’s where I have my problem, needing God. I know in the end I do need him, as I am constantly reminded in little ways. I still can’t help my nature, wanting to do things on my own and never ask him for anything. But I need to. I need to ask him to help guide me through everyday and be there with me. I need him to remind me that sometimes it’s okay to be helpless and needy.

God, our great creator, made man, and still man was lonely. Man had God and with all that love man still needed a companion. “It is not right that man should be alone,” as it says in Genesis. So true. That’s why God created woman, and man and woman need each other. We are supposed to need one another at some point in our lives and thus need God. So why is it so hard? Why do some of us fight so hard to be independent from everyone. Most of my closest friends are die hard hermits and it takes an act of congress to get them to go anywhere. I am not the easiest person either. We are self sufficient, and don’t realize that we need to need people. We should go to church to fellowship with people of similar faith, because we need the reminder that God is amazing.

I try. Sometimes I have to let a stranger fix my washing machine because I can’t fix it myself. Sometimes when my car blows up, literally, I need a lift. It kills me to not be able to do things on my own, but it’s just God’s way of reminding me that I need to need people. He made us that way. So I grit my teeth and pray for the patience to be okay with it. God loves to nudge me. Some of the situations I have gotten into have to make me laugh and just prove that God has a wonderful sense of humor. I think sometimes that is the only way anyone can get my attention. I have learned to laugh at a lot of things that would make most people cry. So when life throws me a grenade I simply laugh and throw a sandbag on it.

This year when I made my resolutions, my biggest was to need people more, and here is hoping it works out. I am trying to be more patient. Trying to be around people more often and really enjoy their company. In the end it’s what God wants. We are supposed to be a light spread God’s love to the world, which is hard to do by yourself.

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

Right now I’m cuddled up, nursing my babe, while my son snuggles on my side, watching Super Why and the snow falls out the window. Tucked under a blanket that my great grandma made, I am reminded of something I wrote a while ago and decide to share…

The Blanket

I am thin and tattered.
Frayed and slightly unraveled.
I am old with stories etched in every seam.
Yet I am soft.
I am warm.
There are stories left for me to see.
I encircle those I love in comfort.
I wrap those I care for in strength.
I am a blanket,
Yet I am not only a blanket.
I am something more.
I am a symbol.
I am the water that surrounds at birth.
I am the arms of the mother.
I am the sun beaming all around.
I am the embrace of the lover.
I am the earth that welcomes us all to rest.
I am a blanket,
And I am yours.

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

I thought an easy way for me to document the year without dwelling on it too much would be to just compile a quick list of my most popular and favorite posts from the past year, but as I started to look at my analytics and thought back on the post I’ve written this year, well, it just didn’t seem like a really good gauge for what happened this year. Sure I wrote about leaving Prague, my sister-in-law getting married, birthing my second child at home, and deciding to move to Seattle. Those were big events from this year. But, what I couldn’t write about was the pain we carried for those we cared about who faced abuse, divorce, law suits, loss of income, foreclosures, miscarriages, cancer, and more. What I couldn’t put into words was the many goodbyes, the internal struggles with placelessness, loneliness, and the overhanging unknowns.

It felt like the ground was constantly shifting underneath us this year. Even as I watch the ground continue to shake for many I love I feel our footing stabilizing for the first time all year, perhaps for the first time in a few years. We’ve been tossing about in a sea of uncertainty and instability and we’ve finally reached solid land. I admit I had more than a little trepidation about where we were landing, but now that we’re here I feel like I can finally breath with my feet on firm soil.

I feel excited about 2012. I feel excited about the future in a way that I haven’t felt since our first year in Prague. I feel like Bryan and I are coming into our own for the first time feeling more at peace with who we are, what we are doing and where we are going than we ever have.

2012 may not look as exciting from the outside, we won’t be gallivanting around Europe, having dinner parties with people from all over the world. We won’t be living in an intentional community/farm like we had thought we might be. We wont be having a baby, starting a new career, or moving. We won’t be doing exciting things, and our actions this year probably won’t change the world. For the first time since we first got married our life will look prettying much the same as an other suburban family. But, I feel like it fits for now. It works for this stage of life. And at least right now, I’m excited about it.

I don’t think I have ever felt so anxious to say goodbye to a year as I am to say goodbye to 2011. Nor have I ever felt so anxious to start a year as I am to start 2012. So bring on the bubbly, let’s get this party started and ring this year in right!

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

You can expect to be given a home cooked meal made of real food…but, it’s very likely that there will be dirty dishes in the sink.
Expect to be eating largely organic, free-range, and grass fed as the case may be…but my toddler may sing ABCs during dinner, or reach clear across the table for bread, or roll his toy car on your back.
Expect that I will have good beer (usually local) that you can enjoy…but, you may be dragged to the playroom to play cars or asked to hold the baby for a bit.
Expect to be heartily welcomed…but, you may be asked to leave early because we aren’t afraid to kick people out because we’re tired.
Expect casual, comfortable and usually messy.
Expect laughter and conversation…but expect it to be interrupted by kids and seasoned with awkwardness now and then.

If I invite you to my home for dinner…

I expect you to play with my kids at least a little.
I expect you to make yourself at home – take your shoes off, help yourself to water, beer, raw milk or whatever other drinks are around, change the music if you want.
Excuse the mess and pardon the kids chaos.

I love having people over, i would usually much rather have people in my home than go to someone else’s, but I’m not a Martha Stewart type of host. When I invite someone over I invite them into a little bit of myself – I am messy, and unfinished and so is my home. I am not interested in facades or perfection, I can’t maintain them. I am interested in friendship, I am interested in building authentic community.

I will welcome you into my home on the day when my kids took extra long naps, and I am refreshed and prepared, and on the day when I only got two hours of sleep and didn’t have time to clean. I will welcome you in on the days when I’m energized and creative and the days when I just can’t snap out of my negative funk. Sometimes I might ask all the right questions and we’ll have a great conversation. Other times I might be tired and awkward and we may end up just watching an episode of Friends or Modern Family together.

So, come on over. Come in and take a seat. Breathe. Relax. I won’t pretend if you won’t. Welcome to the mess, the chaos, the unfinished work in progress. Welcome to my home.

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

Our pediatrician recommended blood tests and an MRI to try and determine the cause and extent of the issue. So far the blood work has all come back normal and we have yet to do the MRI. We’ve also seen a neurologist and been referred to a geneticist. As we’ve learned a little more though, it seems likely that we will never know a cause or, in advance, how it might effect her. It also seems likely that she will have some developmental delays of some sort. They could be mild delays or severe delays, they may show up right away or not for a while, and at this point it seems we have no way of knowing.

I honestly feel weird writing about it, since I don’t feel like we really know anything. All we really know is that she’s measuring at 2.4 deviations and that there’s a good chance she will have some developmental delays, although there’s also a chance she could grow up without any noticeable delays at all. We just don’t know.

In some ways I’ve been really thankful that we found this out right in the middle of a move, when there’s lots to do and not much opportunity to stop and think. The little research I’ve been able to do has made me realize that maybe its better for my psyche if I don’t do any at all. It’s hard to feel so helpless, though, and to live with this constant unknown.

I love my little girl so much. We bonded so much more quickly than I did with my son. I look at her and my heart melts. I can’t imagine my life without her and have already sort of forgotten what life was like before she was born. I want her to have a wonderful and full life. I don’t want her quality of life to be diminished because of this. I don’t want her life to be more difficult because of this. It breaks my heart to think of all of the what-ifs and how this may affect her over time.

And then she locks eyes with me and smiles and I know that whatever comes we are going to be ok. My beautiful little girl will always be my beautiful little girl. And I feel ready to face whatever comes, together, as a family.

Rejoicing in the journey –
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

My first blogging experience was on xanga. The year was 2002. I had recently moved back home after a year at Vanguard University in California. My friend and roommate from Vanguard, Kerry, talked me into starting it as a way to stay in touch with her and other friends from Vanguard since they were all using xanga. I remember being sort of skeptical about it, thinking I wouldn’t know what to write and why would anyone want to read what I’d share. But Kerry convinced me and I decided to give it a try. The first few entries I was so unsure what to write I just shared quotes I liked at the time. This is the first one I shared,
“Becoming a Person means that the individual moves toward being, knowingly and acceptingly, the process which he inwardly and actually is. He moves away from being what he is not, from being a facade. He is not trying to be more than he is, with the attendant feelings of insecurity or bombastic defensiveness. He is not trying to be less than he is, with the attendant feelings of guilt or self-depreciation. He is increasingly listening to the deepest recesses of his psychological and emotional being, and finds himself increasingly willing to be, with greater accuracy and depth, that self which he most truly is.” – Carl Rogers
Little did I know at the time the role that blogging would play in my own Becoming.

After those first few posts of quotes I tried sharing more about what I was doing and experiences I was having, but I knew relatively quickly that wasn’t for me. Although I would continue to occasionally share those types of daily details they would never be the central focus of my blogging experience.

It was so interesting to skim back through those early posts and watch as I struggled to find my blogging voice. What was it that I wanted to document and share? I experimented… I shared quotes, I shared details of my day, I shared questions I was asking, I shared poems I was writing, I shared my meandering wonderings. I blogged my questions, my doubts, my realizations and epiphanies. The writing is mostly stream of consciousness with little to no editing or formatting. But, slowly little by little that blog helped me to find my voice and my love for blogging.

Discovering blogging was like discovering a whole new way of processing for me. I’d always loved writing and always kept journals, but for some reason hand written journals were always rather uninspiring for me. I was never able to find my voice through them.

I often process the question, “why do I blog?” and I’ve written a little about some of that processing before, but I think I’m starting to figure out little by little the reasons I blog and why I fell in love with it nine years ago and have stuck with it till today.

I blog partly as a way to process through things I’m thinking about, but if that was the only reason to blog then a private journal would meet that need perfectly, and for me journals never came close. For me blogging is only partly about processing, it’s more largely about putting out into the world something that I myself would like to find and read. I write about my own personal processes, struggles, experiences, and hopes, but I write it not just for myself, I write it in the hope that someone else who’s going through the same thing, whose had the same thoughts, whose made the same desperate pleas or celebrated the same victories will find it, breath a sigh of relief and say “I’m not the only one.”

Sometimes as I learn about something new I write to solidify my learning and teach it to others. Sometimes as I wrestle with a question I write to process my question and get advice and input from others. Sometimes as I have a new realization about myself I write to know myself better and so that others can know me better too. Sometimes I write for myself, sometimes I write for the self I was, and the self I will be. Sometimes I write for others, for those who are where I was, who are where I am or will be where I am going.

I write partly for the joy of writing but the joy of writing was never enough to keep me writing consistently. I think I like blogging for much the same reason that I enjoy public speaking. It not only enables me to process and develop myself it also gives me a platform for sharing my voice with the world (even if it’s only ever a small portion of the world). Blogging feeds the side of me that wanted to be a writer, the side of me that wanted to be a poet, the side of me that wanted to be an actress, and the side of me that wanted to be a pastor. Through blogging I can be a little bit of all those things and also nothing more than a struggling mommy. I can be me and something more than me as well.

I can’t imagine my life without blogging as a creative outlet and I will always owe Kerry a great doubt for introducing me to the world of the blogosphere. Thank you, friend!

Happy nine year anniversary to me! I feel very curious where the next nine years of blogging will take me. I wonder where I’ll be and who I’ll be then.

I’ll close with another quote that I shared on those early blogs:
“The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
‘Who are you?’ said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, ‘I — I hardly know, sir, just at present — at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.’”

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

You see I have a problem. I avoid looking good, hid from feeling attractive, run from the feminine.  Time and time again I show a lack of value for myself as a created daughter of Divinity. I essentially say to God, “I don’t want to take care of what you created, I don’t want to acknowledge or live up to the potential you created in me. I think you messed up a bit when you made me and I’m not worth the care or attention of others or myself.” hum, doesn’t sound so good when I put it that way, but of course when I make the little decisions each day I don’t put it that way.

I can remember when I stopped wearing makeup. Ironically enough many women hide behind makeup, but for me stopping wearing make up was when I first started to hide my feminine potential. Now don’t get me wrong I’m not pro-make up at all. I think the chemicals we regularly cover our faces with are unhealthy and unnecessary, but I realized something recently about when I stopped wearing make up. It was right after I started to notice I was getting attention from boys. It’s when I really realized that I had feminine beauty and power… and that terrified me. I was scared of that beauty, scarred of that power. Scared that I had it… and scared that I would discover I didn’t have it. So, I decided to avoid the question. I started to stop trying. Small blow after small blow to my self esteem and I started to hide more, until eventually I was rolling out of bed and wearing pajamas to class. A kid later and I was only showering twice a week. Two kids later and I’ve stopped brushing my hair and pretty much only ever wear sweats or yoga pants.

Back in high school when I first started drawing attention, and first stopped wearing makeup because of the fear that attention stirred up in me, there was something else going on too. Something that I now think was slightly sinister. Growing up in a conservative Christian environment I was starting to hear voices that (at least in my head) equated looking good and being attractive with “sin”, or at least less than godliness. Sex was of course “wrong”, dating was “wrong” (I was in high school when “I kissed dating goodbye” was popular), looking seductive or in anyway drawing attention to your body or looks was “wrong”, and so I started to get this message that something must be wrong with beauty, attractiveness, and the feminine. Being in touch with and expressing your feminine beauty was dangerous. I

But, the truth of the matter is that I am feminine and I want to be beautiful and attractive.  I run from it, even with my husband, scared that I’m not beautiful or attractive I try to act like I don’t care. Scared l am beautiful, attractive and powerful I “let myself go”. Scared that if I tried I’d fail….but also scared that if I tried I’d succeed. I know it sounds like a dichotomy, but I think most women would understand what I mean (right??? or is it just me??).

How do dreadlocks tie into all this? Well, I think in some ways they are another way to hide. Instead of embracing my long, naturally wavy hair and taking the time to value and care for it, I have just let it go, especially over the past year. Dreadlocks would in some ways be a way for me to deal with this problem without really having to take care of myself. But, for me, dreadlocks would also be another decision to run and hide. You see my hair has often been a source of compliments for me, at least when I take care of it. I think choosing dreadlocks would be a way of running from those compliments as well as running from the lack of compliments I’ve had lately as I have stopped taking care of my hair and only ever wear buns. Not that I don’t think dreadlocks can be beautiful – I think some people can really pull it off and look beautiful with them. And I wonder if maybe I could too. My husband thinks I could and has decided he thinks they’d look good and wants me to try them. But, for me, dreadlocks wouldn’t be a decision to embrace looking good and taking care of myself. They wouldn’t be a way to embrace my beauty.

In choosing dreadlocks I would be choosing to say yet again, I am not worth spending 5 minutes on. I am not valuable enough to spend the time taking care of myself. And that is a message I would like to stop sending myself. It’s a message I would like to stop sending my children as well. I want my children to know that they are loved and cared for that they are valuable, but I also want them to know that every other human being is valuable too…and that includes mommy! And valuable human beings deserve to be taken care of…even mommies!

I think after writing all this I know what I have to do, I have to get a hair cut and start taking care of myself. I owe it to myself, and to my family. I’m not really doing them any favors by not taking care of myself. I want to teach my children that they are valuable and worth taking care of – that every human being is beautiful, powerful, and valuable. I want my daughter to know that she is beautiful and that it is ok for her to let that beauty show, she doesn’t have to be scared of her attractiveness or her femininity. I want my son to know that every woman is beautiful and deserves to be taken care of, that his power does not diminish or dominate hers, that he cannot force his needs above hers. Maybe a small step I can take towards teaching them that is starting to believe it more myself, by taking small active steps toward valuing myself and my own unique beauty.

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

PS – if you want to read some great thoughts from another momma thinking about beauty and pleasure and taking care of yourself visit my friend, Vina’s blog, A Nourishing Home.

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email