When the Tantrums Turn Up, The Screen Turns Off: Our Honest Journey with Screen Time
Not long ago, we took a family trip to the DoSeum in San Antonio. It had been weeks of the kids and I being homebodies. Lots of time spent out on the property, playing in the pond, new chickens, new scrapes, and toddler bruises for Jack. I thought it would be great to go into the city and have a little change in scenery.
I loved going to the children’s museum growing up. Nothing like the memories of the fake grocery store flooding through my mind as I see Jack pushing his little cart through the sea of other kids. Did I mention it was field trip Friday at the DoSeum? Mental note for next time: Tuesday mornings are probably where it’s at. But I digress.
We were all having the best time. I exhaled and felt like maybe, just maybe, the terrible twos were behind us. Jack was listening so well – migrating from exhibit to exhibit with his hand in mine. We were killing the DoSeum game together while his Dad and Ev were enjoying the little cafe.
“Alright, Jack. You’ve got five more minutes.”
“Say yes, mom?” I reassured that he heard me.
“Yes, mom,” He expressed back.
(Through multiple tantrums when leaving the park, I learned that timing cues really helped when it was time to go.)
Alright cool – we’ve got this. We are going to knock this little field trip Friday out of the freaking park!
“Alright bud, it’s time to go.”
….
Somewhere between the pretend H-E-B grocery store and the excavator, we had a full-blown meltdown. I’m talking red-faced, tears flowing, arched-back, screaming-on-the-floor kind of melty.
The reason? He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want a transition. He wanted control.
NOT TODAY.
I worked to maintain my control, by taking him into the perfectly placed family restroom to calm him down – which led to discipline, and it just got worse. At this point, I was trying to manage the both of us. What does Daniel Tiger say? “Take a deep breath, and count to four.” Well, I felt like needed to count to forty.
If only I could have handled it as well as Mom Tiger – but this was not our best moment, okay?!
I side-packed Jack out of the museum and called my mom on the way home sobbing. In all my emotion I literally thought there had to be something wrong with him. Out of the 200 kids at the DoSeum why was mine the only one melting down? After a bit of discussion, she suggested we take a look at his screen time volume. In the moment, I wanted to cuss at her, but I knew she was right.
That melt down at the museum was a mirror for me. Not of failure, but of serious reflection. Something in our house needed to change.
I grew up watching a lot of TV. Like, a lot. A little Cory and Topanga could fix anything. TV was pretty much always on in the background. Now as an adult in my own home, it sort of became the same. A show here, a show there, something to give me a break to reset the house. Or a little YouTube at the restaurant so Wayne and I could connect.
But I started noticing something… The more screen time Jackson had, the harder everything else became. Getting dressed. Leaving the house. Going to bed. Being told “no.”
His ability to regulate his emotions was lower. His tolerance for “real world” stimulation was shorter. His tantrums were way bigger.
And honestly? So were mine.
Let me be clear: By no means am I all of a sudden anti-screens. I’m a mom, not a magician. The Lion King has 100% saved my sanity on multiple occasions.
But after the big melty at the museum (I’m referring to mine too.) we started making some changes. Small, intentional changes.
We decided to turn the TV off for longer stretches. Our mornings began with worship music and playing. We got outside more. And we talked — a lot. Honestly, the time away from the screen made me realize I was missing out on some pretty entertaining conversations with my almost three year old.
Has there still been hard moments? Uh, yes. Has the shift in our home been worth it? Absolutely.
Because when the screen went off…our imaginations started waking up again. The tantrums didn’t completely disappear — but our ability to handle them has improved.
And maybe most importantly, I showed up better for Jack and Ev. Less in my head. More aware of our family unit and ready to tackle the day.
We’re still navigating the crazy world of screen time. I know there’s so much noise surrounding this topic. Whether you’re a screen free family, or still letting Hakuna Matata roll when you need it. Figuring out the best route for your family is always the right thing.
If you’re in the messy middle of this too — I see you. You’re not alone. And you’re absolutely not failing. We’re all just learning how to show up as the best moms we can be.
Easter in Pajamas: A Perfectly Imperfect Reminder of His Love
Yesterday was Easter Sunday – my favorite holiday (besides Christmas) and a day I look forward to every year. A day meant for celebration, reflection, au Gratin potatoes, and pastel everything. This year felt especially meaningful for me as it was my first Easter celebrating with both of my kids. And your girl had it all planned out: all of us in our Sunday best, the floral prints, the picture-perfect family of four frolicking into church like a springtime dream.
Or so I hoped.
Except… when I went to get dressed, I realized those pants I thought were a six (or maybe an eight?) were actually a size four. And they no longer fit this postpartum body of mine. It wasn’t even about the fit – it was the fact that my outfit was a three-piece set and piece three wouldn’t button. Not even close. So jeans it was for me this year.
Strike one — jeans for Easter, here we go.
Everyone was dressed and ready to head out the door (more or less). I had my coffee waiting patiently for me on the counter (God bless it, my half-full, two-hour-old coffee), and then—splat. Jackson, in true Jackson form, yanked it down from the counter, instantly baptizing his little Old Navy carrot polo in my vanilla latte. Outfit number one, done.
Strike two — latte’d before liturgy.
We did a quick change and rallied. I was determined to make it to church on time. It’s Easter Sunday for crying out loud, and we will not be late. And we weren’t; at 10:28 we pulled into the parking lot, and just as I reached for Everly’s car seat, I caught a whiff. A blowout. And not just any blowout—one that would put any diaper commercial to shame. Her pink velour Easter outfit? History. So into service she went in pajamas, because that’s what we had, and honestly, that’s what worked.
Then came Sunday school. They handed out chocolate donuts as a sweet (and sticky) visual for the stone that rolled away from Jesus’ tomb. Jackson loved the object lesson. His outfit? Not so much. Outfit number two—chocolate-smeared and barely holding on.
Strike three — and we’re outta clean outfits.
After church, the Jensens rallied once again and headed to Easter brunch. I had made a reservation at a nicer restaurant—the kind with linen napkins and a prix fixe menu. And despite the state of our motley crew, the staff decided to seat us smack dab in the center of the dining room. Front and center. Right where every. single. patron. could see us. Literally my worst nightmare, and yet—somehow—here we were, waving our syrup-covered linen napkins with pride.
To top it all off? We got one-star service at a five-star spot. I looked across the table at Wayne and just laughed. Because at that point, what else can you do? (I didn’t even get my au Gratins.)
And then — just as we were preparing to run as fast as we could from the restaurant — a couple seated across from us stopped by our table. They smiled warmly and told us how well-behaved our kids were. How lovely it was to see a family like ours. They had raised four themselves and knew what it was like bringing kids to fancy restaurants.
I nearly burst into tears.
Because what they saw wasn’t the blowouts, or the multiple outfit changes, or the chaos of our morning. They saw love. And that—that is the grace of God showing up exactly when you need it.
Because Easter isn’t about perfect families in coordinated pastels. It’s about a perfect Savior who entered into the chaos of our world and made a way through it. Through the greatest trial came the greatest triumph the world has ever known. Through suffering came salvation. Through death came life—eternal, unshakable, grace-filled life.
He is worthy—worthy of our worship, our surrender, our laughter through the madness, our tired hallelujahs. And because He is worthy, we are made worthy in Him. Not by our polished appearances, but by His powerful resurrection.
Jesus rose because of His perfect love for us. And it’s that love that covers our mess. Our coffee spills. Our pajama-wearing babies. Our parenting fails. Our brokenness.
So here’s to the holiday mornings that don’t go as planned. To the pajama-clad babies, the donut-smeared shirts, the kind words from strangers, and the grace of God poured out in the middle of it all.
Here I am. A new mom to a three-day old baby boy. I’m standing in the shower washing this new body that I don’t recognize, that now feels like marshmallow cream. You know, the marshmallow cream in a jar? Just. Like. That.
Everything is puffy. My face. My gut. My vagina.
What just happened? I delivered my baby on a toilet with the help of a squatty potty – that’s what happened. Really, not the vision that I had in mind for that moment, but here we are.
I’m forever changed. Learning. Scared. Tired. Grateful. Accomplished. All at the same time.
Through the steamy glass of my shower, I found myself staring at my new infant. He’s swaddled perfectly in his Dok-A-Tot on the bathroom counter. I know what you’re probably thinking, but don’t worry; it’s a good-sized counter. Even with a couple feet from the edge, my new-mama mind couldn’t help but wander into worst case scenarios. “Do you think he’ll be okay on the counter?” “What if he moves suddenly and falls off the counter?” “We don’t have insurance for him yet.” “CPS will definitely be called on us.” I’ve always been someone that has dressed rehearsed tragedy, but this was my new baby I was thinking about.
Still, the thoughts went on and on.
I remember staring at him in that moment, completely frozen. I was mourning a version of myself before him. She was long gone. Wasn’t this everything I wanted? Wasn’t this everything I prayed for? After seven years of absolutely no sign of pregnancy, God brought this miracle into our lives and he’s here and he’s healthy and I’m here and I’m healthy. How lucky was I?
My parents always used to call me, “the feather in the wind.” When things got hard, I ran. When I was uncomfortable, I hopped on a plane, or got in my car and moved to whatever city I wanted. As I aged, I learned that living a life like this wasn’t sustainable. I caused a lot of heartache to people that didn’t deserve it. Thank God for my husband, Wayne. Meeting him diminished that yearning inside of me to escape. He never let me run, even when I wanted to. He required that we face it all, together.
As the days went on, I would tell myself “Alex, women all over the world are yearning for a life that looks exactly like yours.” The house at the end of the cul-de-sac, the Goldendoodles, the husband, the baby, the Volvo – I was living was my teenage vision board, but better. I GOT THE VOLVO.
And now… all I wanted to do was run away.
So, I ran.
Not literally, but like everything else, I brushed my feelings of wanting to escape aside, and got back to work. I carried a lot of shame for all my emotion, and I wasn’t willing to vocalize my thoughts. I didn’t need help. It was all going to be fine.
By the end of week two, we were at our first visit to the Birth Center where we delivered Jackson. My mid-wife pulled me aside and handed me a clip board with a questionnaire attached. “We need to have you fill this out to ensure you aren’t experiencing any post-partum depression. You’ll respond to each statement with how you have been feeling within the last week, and then we will calculate where you’re at.”
Alrighty… how tough could this be?
Statement 1:
I have been able to laugh and see the funny side of things.
Answers: As much as I always could. Not quite so much now. Not so much now. Not at all. “Well, yeah, things have still been funny. Wayne’s always funny. Okay, I’ll answer always.”
I circle always.
Statement 3:
I have blamed myself unnecessarily when things went wrong.
Answers: Yes, most of the time. Yes, some of the time. Not very often. No never.
“Well, I wasn’t sure how to bathe Jackson the most comfortably the other night. It was my first time, and I got his face wet in the kitchen sink. He got upset after that and then I got really upset. Okay, I’ll answer some of the time.”
I circle some of the time.
Statement 5:
I have felt scared, or panicky for no reason.
Answers: Yes, quite a bit. Yes, sometimes. No, not much. No, not at all.
“Uh, yeah. It’s scary having a new baby. I panic all night long. Is he breathing? What if he stops breathing? Wayne, is he breathing?”
I circle yes, sometimes.
Statement 7:
I have been so unhappy; I’m having difficulty sleeping.
Answers: Yes, most of the time. Yes, sometimes. Not very often. No, not at all.
“I’m not unhappy; I have a beautiful new baby. I’m not sleeping though, and I did Google “signs of SIDS” at 2AM last night, but doesn’t everyone do that?”
I circle yes, sometimes.
Okay, last one.
Statement 10:
The thought of harming myself has occurred to me.
“Well… I did picture the volume of people that would show up to my funeral last week…”
I circled never.
“Shit, she’s going to think I’m depressed. I can’t have that happen. I must go back to work. I must move forward with my life. What kind of questions are these? Don’t all moms cry for no reason? I don’t think I’m depressed. Does every mom immediately love the new human living in their house? My eyes well up with tears as I sign the paper and hand over the clipboard.
I completed the postpartum questionnaire every week for five more weeks. I am proud to say, I came out unscathed.
Or so I thought.
About seven months after having Jackson, I knew something wasn’t right. I couldn’t stop crying and things like going to Target alone became terrifying. And we all know that if a solo trip to Target doesn’t sound like a dream, we’ve got a problem. I continued to dress rehearse tragic scenarios in my mind and the images I would see in my head were evil and vivid. I started having nightmares about my son and would wake up throughout the night sobbing as if what I dreamt was a reality. I was so embarrassed.
I lacked motivation to care for myself in the ways I had in the past. Things like a fitness regimen, and healthy diet were removed from my priority list. The morning routine I had developed for myself had gone out the window. I always knew that bringing life into the world would shift my routine, but this wasn’t a shift. This was an earthquake. The best way that I can describe it is that I did not care about anything. I knew the steps that I needed to take in order to get myself healthy, but I just couldn’t take the next right step. I was stunted. I was stagnant and I was afraid – a version of myself that I hadn’t met before.
The dark thoughts continued, which led to me questioning a lot of the moves I was making. Was I a good mom? Was I showing up for my son in the way he needed? Does he even know I’m his mom? Does he like me? My confidence continued to diminish from my own negative thought process, which really is off brand. I mean, I’m the Worthy girl. I’m the woman on social media preaching about worthiness. But right now, I wasn’t even able to believe myself.
I had a few back-to-back calls with my mom. During our call, she expressed that she was starting to get scared for me. She was really pushing me to take some time off. She asked me if I thought I was a harm to myself. I paused… I couldn’t lie to her. So, I just said, “I don’t think so.” I told her that I had experienced some dark thoughts, but that the likelihood of me doing something to hurt myself was slim. It was hard for me to hear myself have this conversation. She said that if things didn’t start to get better soon, then maybe I should investigate seeing a doctor and taking something to “eliminate the fog.”
The path to peak mental health is different for everyone. Choosing to not use medication has been an important part of mine. Women have created a world where we require ourselves, through the good and the bad, through the life-altering moments, to keep it all together. I’m here to tell you that these unrealistic expectations that we’ve put on ourselves are not only impossible, but they are also so unhealthy.
It’s okay to fall. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to need someone. It’s okay to take a break. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.
As my mom and I hung up the phone, her parting words were, “Take care of my daughter. Take care of Jack’s mom.”
I knew that a spiritual battle was waging against me and my family, and prayer was the only thing that lifted me up in the hard moments. I prayed for peace in my soul. I prayed for courage and strength as I tried to figure out how to navigate my thoughts. I prayed for protection for my family. I prayed that whatever evil was trying to enter my mind would be eliminated. I prayed for the Holy Spirit to move throughout my home and that light would outweigh the darkness in Jesus’ name. Even now, writing out that prayer brings tears to my eyes – because I was desperate.
Over the last couple of weeks, desire has ignited in my soul again. I’ve started with baby steps to overall wellness; just one step at a time. Day by day, little by little, brick by brick.
These are the things that are working for me so far:
• I sleep trained my baby (I used takingcarababies.com) the tools she provided had my son sleeping through the night by day three. • I started getting up at least an hour before everyone in my house to have time with myself. • I started journaling again. I journal my prayers and gratitude every day. Incorporating a gratitude practice and seeing it on paper has been monumental. • I incorporated movement. Just 30-45 minutes on the treadmill walking at least 3 times a week. • I de-cluttered my home. You’d be amazed at the level of stress we place on ourselves just by accumulating too much stuff. If I hadn’t touched it in a year, I got rid of it. • I started taking supplements (I use Cymbiotika – they have a great quiz on their website that will guide you on what to take.) • I opened up to trusted people in my life and told them about the way I was feeling.
I’m forever changed. Learning. Scared. Tired. Grateful. Accomplished. All at the same time.
My heart expanded during this season of my life; it is swelling with empathy, and compassion, and love for the mothers who do it alone. For the mothers of multiples. For the mothers who are experiencing what I experienced. For all of you. I see you. I respect you. We must be better. We must lift each other. Because we all know that this really is the hardest, most rewarding, and beautiful job on the entire planet.
For those of you that are soon-to-be mothers, yearning to be mothers, or are not quite there yet, this post is for you too. It isn’t to scare you; it’s to share a bit of my experience. For some reason there’s a stigma surrounding this topic, but it’s a conversation that we should be having more of.
We were not meant to keep it together all the time. We are human. We are women. We are worthy of the mess. We are worthy in our mess. We are worthy. Period.
Wayne and I conceived our son after attending a Guns N’ Roses concert. I don’t know if it was the Mango White Claws, or Axl Rose’s dance moves, but after seven years of zero luck, we finally did it! The morning we found out, I woke up early and just felt the need to take a pregnancy test. When I saw those little pink lines show up, I was in total disbelief. I remember saying, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” over and over again. Tears weld up in my eyes, as I screamed and immediately ran to wake up Wayne. He was totally in shock. We quickly got dressed and headed to Target to buy every pregnancy test on the shelf. (I swear, by now, I should have stock in pregnancy tests.) After peeing on five at once, there it was – all the proof we needed. We were going to be parents. It was finally our turn. I remember standing in the bathroom recollecting on all of the disappointments. Time after time, seeing the words “Not pregnant” come across that little stick. They all made sense now. This was it. This was our time.
The Birth Plan:
Early on, after a series of events, we made the decision to birth outside of a normal hospital setting. I was really unsure of the direction that Covid was going to take and did not want to risk the potential of birthing alone, like so many women have had to endure in the last two years. We were so blessed to find the California Birth Center in Rocklin, California. They provided us with an exceptional experience from our prenatal care up to birth. Now, we are receiving our postpartum care for myself and our son. The California Birth center and their team of midwives provided excellent education throughout my pregnancy. Not only that, they speak life and confidence into you, to assure you that you CAN successfully have an unmedicated birth.
My vision for my birth was to have Jackson in the bathtub. I had seen so many natural births happen this way, and as a bath lover, I thought this would be the perfect scenario for me. I spent months visualizing my birth and seeking God’s voice for strength and reassurance. For those of you that have an interest in a natural birth; I truly believe that the mind work begins early on in pregnancy. Daily, I would take time for myself to mentally prepare for what was to come.
The Day Of:
The last couple of months of my pregnancy had been very difficult. I experienced severe SPD (Symphysis Pubis Disfunction – who knew that was a thing?!) and walking had become a major struggle for me at this point. If you guys know me, you know that I am a total control freak. The week prior to delivery, I had gone into false labor. I kept thinking, “this is it, this is it.” I experienced contractions in my abdomen and back for about two hours and then they dissipated. The following week at 39 weeks, I had no symptoms. It was a beautiful Wednesday morning and I thought, “This boy is going to stay put for another two weeks.” I carried on with my regular work day and that evening Wayne and I went out to dinner. When we came home that night, we watched the most amazing documentary called, My Love on Netflix. The documentary series showcases various couples that have been married for 60 plus years. Wayne and I got really emotional while watching it and talked about our life and our dreams for our family. It was a beautiful night. When we got in bed, it was about 11:30. I laid down and suddenly heard this, “POOF!” I looked over at Wayne next to me and asked, “Did you just hear that?” He obviously didn’t. I thought maybe my water had broken. I stood up and immediately had to pee. After peeing, I noticed that I had lost my mucus plug. I was elated! I peed again about four times in a matter of fifteen minutes. Contractions started immediately, along with all of the questioning thoughts. “Is this it? Is this real?” I had read about back labor, but had no clue the intensity of what the experience would be like, I just knew that these contractions were different. I left our bedroom and went out into the living room to bounce on my exercise ball. The contractions were coming faster and faster and getting on my hands and knees was the only thing that felt right. I turned on my labor playlist and lit some candles. I wanted to create the most calming experience that I could, if this was true labor. After three hours of contractions timing five minutes apart, Wayne called our midwife. Even then, I asked him, “Do you think this is real!?” The pressure on my back was getting more and more intense…”Breathe Alex, breathe. You CAN do this.”
It’s Go Time:
We headed to the Birth Center at 3 AM. The drive is about 40 minutes from our house. I learned through a series of videos that Moo Breathing could help with the pain. You breathe in and moo out. With the intensity of my contractions elevating, I remembered this technique. Music has always been my source of therapy. My plan was to continue with Jackson’s labor playlist, which included really calming worship music. On the drive, I looked at Wayne and told him, “Beyoncé, I need Beyoncé.” I put on a song called Freedom, and blasted it as loud as I could. Through the song came more contractions and I tried to focus on the lyrics and my breath. “Mooooooo.” We made it to the birth center and our midwives greeted us outside. When we arrived to our birthing room, I got back into all fours position to push through the next contraction. I knew I was dilating and prayed that I would be close to ten… my midwives checked me and I was only at a three. I was devastated. How could I only be at a three? My midwives stated that they were thinking of sending me home to continue to labor there. They had us stay put for another 45 minutes to allow my labor to progress. As the contractions continued, I wanted to try another position. I got into the bathtub. It had been my first time to experience the size of the tub. For those of you reading that don’t know, I am five feet tall on a good day. I didn’t consider the size of the bathtub, prior to labor. As the water filled, another contraction came. I immediately had to get onto all fours to push through the pain. The water was hitting my chin at half way full and I immediately felt claustrophobic. I had to get out of there, as nausea started to kick in. The minute my feet hit the floor, I began to throw up. My beautiful husband got there just in time with a barf bag. I made it the the toilet and continued to puke. “Is this normal?” My husband asked our midwife. “Oh yes, vomiting usually happens at three centimeters, and seven centimeters.” Another contraction was coming. I made it back to the bed to get onto my hands and knees to breathe through it. You know the feeling when you’re working out and you’re pushing through your last squat? You’ve just completed your last one, and now you’ve got to do one more? That was the pain. That was the pressure on my back for the last six hours.
It was time to check my dilation again. Laying on my back was the last thing I wanted to do. When my midwife checked me, another contraction came. I was now at a seven. Praise the LORD, I was progressing. I knew then, we weren’t going back home without this baby in our arms. What a surreal feeling. As the contractions continued to progress, my amazing midwife did all that she could to alleviate the back pain. She used essential oils and the smell and light massage was incredibly calming. I was getting tired. Another contraction came. “Breathe through it, Alex. You’re really strong. Focus on your breath. This is BIG.” I wanted to crawl out of my skin. My fight, or flight response had kicked in and I wanted to fly. My midwife had been checking our son’s heart rate and positioning throughout the labor process. Jackson was in perfect position throughout my pregnancy. Now, he had moved sunny side up. “Okay Alex, we are going to have to switch your positioning to get the baby to move back into position.” I switched between my right and left sides to rotate Jackson with Wayne wrapped around my neck. After an hour, we were able to flip him back into position.
“I think I have to poop? Am I pooping?” I kept asking. “Moooooooo.” The contractions continued and were very intense; I didn’t know if I was going to be able to do this. I was whispering in Wayne’s ear, “I can’t do this, take me to the hospital.” My midwives told me the closer and closer I got, these thoughts would enter into my brain. “I have to poop. Am I peeing? Moooooooo.” I started to get angry. I’ve always been someone who could control my thoughts. In this scenario, I couldn’t. I couldn’t think away the pain. “Pretend you’re on the Peloton, Alex. Pretend you’re on a massive incline and you’ve got twenty minutes to go. Remember what you always say to yourself – you can do anything in twenty minutes. You can do anything in an hour,” I thought. Another contraction was coming. Now, they were back to back with barely any relief. At this point, it had been seven hours of back labor. My back and hip muscles were so fatigued, that once it came time to push, I would need to get into an alternate position to successfully deliver our boy. “Can I get on the toilet, please?” The midwives brought me a birthing chair to try. Due to my size, the birthing chair was very close to the ground and very uncomfortable. “I just need the toilet!” I got onto the toilet, wrapped my hand around the grab bars and placed my feet onto the squatty potty. Wayne, my mom, and my birthing team were surrounding me. I was exhausted and pretty out of it. It was time to push.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I thought once getting to ten centimeters of dilation, your contractions stop and now you push. Well… that’s not how it works, folks! I continued to contract on the toilet and pushed with every contraction. “He’s crowning. Would you like to feel him?” Nope. I just wanted him here. “You’ve got this babe, keep pushing.” My moos have now escalated to intense growls. I pushed out his head. I looked at my team and asked them if I could take a break. They all laughed and said yes. I looked at my husband in the eyes. I started to see the emotion come over his face. We just ran a marathon together and the finish line was within sight. This was it. We were about to meet our son. I took a deep breath. Wayne looked at me and said, “You can do this. Finish it.” I pushed and growled. He was here. Jackson Reign Jensen was now in my arms. I sobbed with joy. “My baby boy! My beautiful baby boy. Oh, thank you Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.” Wayne and I cried together as we welcomed our son into the world on the morning of his 37th birthday. May 26, 2022. 8 AM on the dot, six pounds and fifteen ounces of pure joy. God is good.
The After Birth:
I held Jackson in my arms as my birth team guided me to the bathroom floor. They placed a yoga mat down and let me know it was time to birth my placenta. I’ve heard from others that there can be complications with this, and I was fearful of what could be coming next. I focused on my son. But my body and mind were so tired, that I felt like I wasn’t present. My placenta pushed out successfully, as I felt a large volume of blood creep up my back. My midwives placed my placenta next to me in a bowl on the floor. The Birth Center encourages leaving the cord in tact for a while following delivery. This organ that provided nutrients to our son for nine months is his greatest asset. I laid on the floor for about forty minutes. It was now time to move into bed to try to latch. I handed our baby over to Wayne and got into the shower – I felt incredibly weak and light headed. Suddenly, I lost my hearing. “You doing okay, Alex? You’re turning white on me.” My midwife held me up as I worked to navigate over to the bed. She examined me and found that I could have a potential clot within my cervix. “Okay, Alex. We are going to have to go into your cervix to remove the clot.” This is what I had heard and read about. As she entered, I started having another contraction. I mentally went into another place when she removed the clot. The pain of this was more than I can describe.
After safely removing the clot and stitching me up, (I had a small tear. I truly believe the toilet saved me from additional tearing.) It was now time to practice latching. Due to the blood loss, I was unable to mentally participate with my son to successfully latch. Even now, I get emotional about this. Jackson and I are still working to latch – which we will connect on in another post! My amazing husband stepped in at this point, and latched our baby to a nipple shield on his finger provided by the birth center. After a couple hours of rest and getting a good meal into my system, we were ready to head home with our beautiful boy.
Reflection:
What I learned the most throughout my entire pregnancy and labor experience, is that life doesn’t always go as planned. As an avid planner, I am quickly learning that motherhood is totally out of my control. I am learning to let go and allow Jesus to guide me through this process. After seven years of trying, we are now parents. The zen experience I intended to have, ended up being on the toilet with a squatty potty! But God always shows up. It may not look the way we think. But he always, always shows up and His perfect vision is absolutely beautiful, worthy and enough.
It’s been a little over a month since I launched The Worthy Blog. It’s been an incredible month of growth and reflection. At the same time, a month of questioning and fear. I think anytime we step into a space of vulnerability, there’s a little slice of fear that comes along with it. In my case, the little slice is the whole damn cake!
I was listening to a message this morning and the speaker said something that really caught my attention. She said, “If there’s no fear, it doesn’t require very much faith.”
I’ve spent the last week, or so questioning what I am doing. I have been presented with some fear that I wasn’t anticipating. My fear stems from this little voice inside my head that Brené Brown likes to call, “The Gremlins.” You see, there’s these little gremlins that say things like:
“Who do you think you are?”
“You really think that you can positively impact the lives of millions of people?”
“You really think you’re qualified for this?”
“Your haircut looks like a Q-Tip head.” (That’s a new comment from the gremlins. I recently cut my naturally curly hair, so obviously that’s something only a gremlin would say.)
Brené also encourages us to acknowledge these little voices – to thank them for showing up and trying to protect us, but let them know that we’re good and proceed forward into action.
I share this with you, because I believe these little gremlins to be very real and very relatable. I know that I’m not the only one that struggles with my inner voice. However, it’s vital that we acknowledge the validity of our thoughts.
Are these thoughts valid?
Do these thoughts build me, or break me?
We get to choose the thoughts that enter our mind. We get to choose how we speak to ourselves. We get to make the decision to proceed, or recede.
When I challenged you all to complete the Ideal Day Exercise, I asked that you document the details of your ideal day and who you would need to become to access your ideal life. Today, I have another challenge for you that is the antidote of The Ideal Day.
I need you to think of the person that you would be if you didn’t go after your dreams.
I need you to think of the person that you would be if you allowed fear to get in the way of your faith.
I need you to picture yourself ten, twenty years from now in the exact same position you’re in today because you listened to the little gremlin in your head that questioned your qualifications.
Your current qualifications have nothing to do with your calling.
If you have a calling present on your heart – God has already qualified you; you just have to step into faith.
Today, if you’re struggling with the voices in your head that are telling you that you’re not smart enough, pretty enough, talented enough, skinny enough, qualified enough – I am here to tell you that I’ve been right there with you, sister. I am also here to tell you that YOU ARE WORTHY. I am also here to tell you to start combatting those voices; because they aren’t valid. I am here to tell you that you have everything that it takes to accomplish everything you’ve ever wanted. You have everything that it takes to do the work.
Nobody tells you about the amount of mourning in growth…nobody warns you about that.
Today, we are going to acknowledge our fear, thank it for trying to protect us, and then step out in faith anyway.
I’ve been following Steven Furtick, the lead Pastor of Elevation Church for quite some time. He has written sermons that have completely shifted my outlook on everyday experiences of life. He’s an incredible leader from afar and has challenged me to grow and also to continue to understand God’s word. The particular sermon that has impacted me the most focuses on anxiety; something that we unfortunately see so much of today. His guidance is very practical in providing awareness to why we might be anxious. In his talk, he encourages us to look at the acts of our everyday life and adjust some of the things that we are doing that could be increasing our own anxiety.
Here are the 7 things he encourages us to consider:
Check Your Intake – What are you allowing into your mind that may be adding to your anxiety? After asking myself this question, I took an inventory of my daily practice. Some of the things that I was allowing into my mental space was actually adding to an anxious feeling in my soul without me even knowing it. I used to LOVE watching Vanderpump Rules. I don’t have any drama in my life, so the drama of 35 year old waiters was crazy entertaining for me. It provided me with absolutely ZERO VALUE, so I had to give it up. I also had to re-evaluate all the other traffic traveling through my mind. It’s time for you to take an inventory – ask yourself, “Is this building, or is this breaking?” We will not have peace, until we make a space for it.
Imbalance – Remember this – No is a full sentence. Are you giving weight to the wrong things? Are you saying yes, when you really mean no? Tim Ferris says, “If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a no!” I’m still really learning this one. I’m such a yes person, that sometimes I overcommit to things that I don’t necessarily have an interest in, just to ensure I don’t hurt anyone’s feelings. (Triggers anxiety, right?) But a half-ass yes, is more hurtful than a no. Say yes to what’s important and remember that saying no is okay. You get to decide where you commit, and where you decline.
Indecision Is A Prison – DO IT, OR DON’T. Sometimes, all of the options that we have can lead to anxiety. In this portion of the message, he tackles all of the ways the world presents indecision through options. He challenges us to sit down and make three decisions we have been putting off THIS WEEK.
Integrity – The word integrity means whole. I can easily compartmentalize my life, if I’m not paying close attention. I can be one person at work, one person at home, one person with my family, and one person alone. What I am becoming more aware of, is that my method of interaction can and will differ, but who I am at my core always remains the same. This begins first with knowing who you are and being comfortable with who you are. I can proudly say that over the last year, I have grown so much as a person. My ability to be steadfast in my interactions is becoming easier and easier. If this is something you can relate to, be patient with yourself, but you must take the time to ask yourself, Who am I?
Intention – Fix your intentions. I’ve talked about this before; I can get so caught up in the opinions of others, that it inhibits my ability to move forward. I am constantly reminding myself to flip the script. My intention is to serve, not to please. I know that I am not going to please everyone, but If I can show up and serve one person through my content, I am accomplishing my mission. If we can get out of our own heads and see things from God’s point of view, instead of dress rehearsing people’s opinions, we will be successful.
Take Back Your Imagination – This is my mission for 2021! I am the biggest dreamer in the world and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. This year, I am focusing on the things that I love. I’m letting go of worry, I’m letting go of fear. I’m embracing joy, I’m embracing my imagination, I’m embracing my creativity. I challenge you to do the same. What would you love? What are your dreams? Who were you before you let someone steal your imagination? It’s time to take that person back. (Learn how I discovered my Big Ass Dreams here.)
Isolation – I can easily try to fight my battles alone. Part of my purpose with Worthy is that we would build a community here. Sometimes, all we need is someone to look at us and say, “Me too. I’ve been there too. You’re not alone. It’s not just you.” We were not meant to isolate. We were meant to integrate. Promise me today, if there’s something that you’re struggling with, you won’t go at it alone. We were not created for that.
