Confusing Complacency with Contentment

I will never forget my theory and analysis professor at VCU. She was a feisty but lovable woman and she never sugar-coated anything. One particular morning when she was handing back graded assignments, she came around to me and I immediately saw the B- in the upper right-hand corner. I breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. Then I flipped the paper over and there it was, scrawled in fierce, barely legible red ink:

Kristin, you are riding the coattails of your own talent and doing just enough to get by. I'm not impressed.


Talk about having the wind knocked out of you. Like a child getting the "I'm so disappointed in you" talk by their parents, at that precise moment, I wished she would have just gone ahead and given me an F. Not only had I not given it my best, I had been called out for it. I remember that I tried not to think about it for the rest of the day, but it stuck with me. She wasn't someone who knew me particularly well, yet if it was that painfully obvious to her that I wasn't truly giving myself over to something, I wondered what the other people in my life who did know me, see?

Nearly seven years later, I still think about that remark. I've often wondered why it stuck with me (other than the simple fact that we always tend to replay the negatives more than the positives). It was just an assignment- certainly not even a pivotal one at that. I think it carried so much weight, though, because it spoke to something much deeper in me than just a temporary moment of slacking off. Instead, I had developed a posture of complacency.

The problem is that in our culture, we confuse complacency with contentment. Contentment is defined as "enjoyment of whatever may be desired" or simply having enough. Complacency, on the other hand, is defined as "being contented" but "to a fault."

Take a balloon, for example. A balloon can be blown up, inflated, stretched. But it has limits. If those limits are blatantly disregarded, there is usually a loud pop. (In our world, we might call this breakdown). Contentment could be illustrated as a fully-inflated balloon- reaching its full potential, but not exceeding it. Complacency, then, is a balloon that thinks it's been blown up to it's full size when in fact, it hasn't even been stretched at all. It's not even aware that it could be so much more, but it's content to stay the way it is because as we all know, stretching can hurt. And there is always a risk that maybe you could stretch too much and then there might be irreparable damage. Or failure. Complacency likes to sit on the sidelines because, well, it's just safer that way.

If you've ever found yourself saying things like, "What does it REALLY matter?" or "it's not worth it," or "It's okay because no one else is doing it either," I hate to break it to you, but you're settling. And I only know this because I've said it far too much in my life. The reason my professor's words stung so many years ago is because she hit on a truth about myself that I didn't want to acknowledge- a truth that couldn't simply be fixed by turning back around and handing in an A + worthy project. It would involve pushing into something bigger than myself, something uncomfortable and unknown. It would mean changing my entire way of thinking.

So I did. I changed my perspective and everything has been awesome since then.

What, you don't believe me? Good. Because that's not how it works. (I wish). Things have been awesome, but they've also been downright hell-ish at times, too.

There is no one-time quick fix for complacency. And I wish I could say that it is (and was) only relegated to academia, but it extends far beyond into my marriage, my parenting decisions, my music, teaching, and writing. For some odd reason, I operated under the assumption that I would grow up, get married and become a mommy, and when I did, I would magically morph into someone who was no longer prone to complacency. But if anything, it's an even tougher battle now than it was when I was 21, especially since I have so much more on my plate than I did then. Instead, I got married, became a mommy and now I'm having to grow up. There are simply too many things that keep me busy, numb, and ultimately chasing my own tail and unfortunately, it's these things often get more of my attention than the things that really matter.

I can honestly say that most days, I just want to be comfortable. So much so, that I've gotten quite good at letting myself off the hook from everything from working out to writing...to letting the kids watch too much TV...to driving by the homeless guy at the nearby intersection and pretending not to notice. The truth that I act like belongs to everyone else but me is very simple, yet inescapable: I'm not called to be comfortable. Lots of times, this goes against everything I act upon in my day-to-day life. We're all creatures of comfort, to some extent or the other. But we're supposed to take risks. We're made to face fears and confrontations (whether good or bad) and come out better for them. We're built to love others more than ourselves. If we're lucky, we might embrace that early enough in our lives to act on it.

It's easy for me to think that my story is all about being a wife and a mommy and while I know that's undeniably a huge and very important piece to the puzzle, there's more. Lately, I've been wondering how much my tunnel vision has affected my way of thinking. What does it look like to live into a bigger story? What are you giving yourself to (for better or perhaps, for worse) this holiday season?

You Say Placenta, I Say "No Thank You."

I don't remember a lot about the first few minutes right after both Milo and Ella were born other than lying on the cold OR table shaking and trying not to throw up. But oddly enough, I do remember that my OB asked if I wanted to see the placenta.

Dude, did you not just hear me ask the anesthesiologist for more Zofran? Pretty sure I don't want to look at some slab of pulsating blood and tissue. But thanks for the offer, weirdo.

The thing is, it's probably not weird to some. The mere fact that he even asked must have meant that it wasn't such an outrageous request in his line of business. On the other end of the spectrum, I am of the "just show me the baby when he/she gets here" school. No, I don't want mirrors. No, I don't want to peek over the curtain as you slice open my abdominal wall. And I certainly don't want to see my placenta. I might get flamed for saying this, but I honestly thought I would view the birthing process differently after I had my own spawn. Bringing new life into the world in and of itself is a beautiful miracle. But witnessing the actual act of birth is not so much. There was fluid and poop and blood everywhere. The stench of rust and iron and other odors that I didn't want to try to identify was overpowering. If I weren't paralyzed from the waist down, I would have bolted out the door.

That's just me. I can't speak for the majority.

On the other hand, if you're an artist that is blessed with a strong stomach and a fascination for internal organs, I have GREAT news. You can now hand-stitch a placenta teddy bear for someone you love. Because who doesn't want to snuggle with crusty organ remnants? Watch out Build-A-Bear- there's some competition lurking.

I got intrigued about what other things people like to do with their after-births. I'm kinda sorry I started looking, but now it's too late and I don't want to be the only one sitting here with my mouth gaping open. So while I'm told that the teddy bear would make a great stocking stuffer, if it's not your bag, here are a few other options:

Make placenta art!!



Get a placenta facial!!



Plant a placenta tree!!





Want a late-night snack? Now you don't have to go to Wendy's to "eat great, even late." (Some people really swear by this as a mood regulator).




(I just threw up a little in my mouth).


The options are truly endless. Don't be afraid to experiment. Me? I'd just prefer to play with the actual children that were nourished by it. But you know, to each their own. ;-)

Killed Through Comparison: Chasing Shadows

My husbands old iPhone became a running joke in our house. For years, he had the iPhone 3G, what we now refer to as "the dinosaur." The thing took 10 seconds to bring up a webpage (you know, an eternity in Apple world) and he was constantly dropping calls and having texting issues. Due to several "mishaps" (I won't bore you with tales of my negligence here), I was able to upgrade to an iPhone 4 when it became available this past summer, but he continued to hold onto the dinosaur because "it worked well enough." (He has the patience of a saint, this man). So of course, I was all about my new iPhone 4- it was fast, it was bright, it was smart, it took fabulous pictures. But above all of that, it was the new phone. In my shallow pea-brain, I decided I was hip, so, like any loving wife would do, I shamelessly flaunted it in front of him. Look how fast it is, see how new it is? Isn't it awesome? Then, not even 4 months later, there was talk of an even newer iPhone and rumor had it this one would actually talk back to you. Wait, what? Talk about a buzz kill.

A month after that, a package addressed to my husband arrived on our front step and inside was a brand-spankin' new iPhone 4S. Suddenly, my phone didn't seem like all that. It wasn't the latest and greatest anymore. Checking the weather on my phone wasn't nearly as awesome as asking SIRI herself, not to mention the fact that my husband is now enjoying being the one to do the flaunting.

But this is exactly what good, strategic marketing does. It always stays one step ahead, luring you forward, telling you in small yet significant ways that you shouldn't be satisfied with what you already have, that you're not complete until you have XY and Z. The cryptic message brought to us by mass media eventually permeates to the core of who we are, until we are looking for approval and validation around every corner.

Do I look like I belong?

Am I wearing the right brands?

What if I mess up?

Am I good enough??



I do it without even realizing I'm doing it. I'll catch myself eyeing another woman, (especially another mom), another house, another blog- and before I know it, I've decided that I don't have it together like everyone else does. I need more, and I need better. My house needs more furniture and that room really needs a new rug. My writing could be better. My blog design could be more eye-catching. I don't have all organic products in my shopping cart. Why are her children sitting quietly in their stroller and mine are melting down? I should be cooking homemade dinners ever night. I wish I had her high cheekbones. On and on it goes until my head is spinning. A friend of mine sweetly commented the other day how calm and collected I seemed for having two young kids and that mommyhood "looked good on me." I'll admit that for a second, I felt validated. I had made the cut. But really, I felt something in between humbled and flabbergasted. I knew I couldn't let her think the same things about me that I probably project onto every other mom that I see. And while I would hope that there is at least a shred of truth to what she said- that part of my life's fulfillment here on this earth all along was to be Ella and Milo's mommy- I also know what many people didn't see. That I was barely keeping my head above water not more than a month ago and that it took me nearly seven months to admit that I was dealing with PPD.

I'm not alone in that struggle. According to a recent USA Today report, there's been a 400% increase in anti-depressant use since the 1980's and women are 2.5 times more likely to take them than men. In essence, 1 out of every 4 women is medicated. It's just a hunch, but I'd be willing to bet that the majority of those are moms, especially those of young children.

There is no denying that parenthood is the toughest job out there. The neurological responses to hormones and sleep deprivation alone can certainly create the perfect recipe for depression and anxiety. But is there more to it than chemicals? What about those self-imposed, unrealistic expectations we suddenly find ourselves buried beneath? What about the isolation? What about those false assumptions that everyone else is doing life better than we are? As women, are we essentially chasing shadows of something that doesn't even exist? One that's always two steps ahead of us, ever elusive, never quite within our reach? At the end of our pursuit, we turn the corner only to find that whatever (or whoever) it was that we were chasing wasn't nearly as big or as great as they had first appeared to be.

I've turned that corner more times than I can count. I'm a living, breathing example of a type A perfectionist. My best is often never good enough. For years, I thought this was one of my greatest attributes. In the right conditions, it's worked in my favor, but more often than not, it's led to numerous downfalls. That's the thing about chasing shadows- you can never catch them. Really, the best thing you can hope for is to catch a glimpse of whatever it is that's casting the shadow and realize that your perception of it and the reality of it are usually two entirely different things.

Small Word, Big Perspective

Have you ever realized how much power is taken out of something if you were to place the word "just" in front of it? Lately, I've been thinking about how much anxiety could be reduced in my life if I started implementing this one, simple word into my vocabulary more often. Most people who struggle with different forms of anxiety have trouble contextualizing certain situations. They tend to make bigger deals of things that don't necessarily need to be big deals.

This word sneaks it's way into our daily conversations probably several times a day without us realizing it. Phrases like, "It's just a little bump- you're okay." "It's just a cold." "It's just for another five minutes." It's just a thing. It has the ability to take the edge off of just about anything, almost instantly. (On the flip side, there are things in our universe that we will never be able to downplay and that, quite frankly, would be completely inappropriate to even attempt to. It will never be "just" cancer. "Just" a divorce. "Just" war. "Just" a job loss. They are devastating on so many levels and often leave us feeling powerless against them).

But what about those little things that suddenly seem bigger than they should be? In those cases, perhaps all we're missing is a little bit of perspective- and that is surely the one thing in our life that we always have control over to some extent. So instead, what if it was just an off day? What if it was just a bad meeting? What if it was just someone else's opinion? What if that meant that you didn't have to let those things define you after all?

I think this is particularly helpful with anxious situations. I've been putting this into practice a lot lately, asking "what if it was just throwing up?" And I'll be completely honest- It took me longer than I'd like to admit that maybe, just maybe, the world wouldn't end. Maybe life would go on, just as it always does. I think it took me so long to admit it because I knew that it would mean coming face to face with the fact that all of the effort I put into worrying and avoiding and obsessing was all for nothing.

Ouch.

Of course, I'm not claiming that this is a quick fix for any kind of circumstance. If something in your life is in need of becoming "just" something instead of the reason you're constantly reaching for your pepcid tablets or Xanax, it's ultimately going to be boil down to an overall posture- not simply a change in your vocabulary. Identifying those things that trigger stress/anxiety is often half of the battle.

Are there things in your life that demand more of your time and attention than you want them to? You have control over that. Redefining your perspective = redefining your reality.

A Plea: Please Help This Family Bury Their Son...

Oh how my heart is breaking tonight. I share this story because, in the midst of this "30 days of Thankfulness," I had the nerve to sit on my couch this morning and moan to a friend that both of my kids had colds and were up during the night. Whoa is me. DIdn't they just have colds a month ago? Because I'm pretty sure that means we should be done getting colds until next year.

Then I read this story. A little boy, born just a few months before Ella, diagnosed with acute lymphatic leukemia when he was only 4 months old. He spent most of his life attached to tubes and machines, undergoing a bone marrow transplant and fighting to see his third birthday. His little brother- born this past March- was, in fact, his bone marrow donor. They lost him a little bit at a time, slowly. He gave up his fight yesterday afternoon while his Momma held him.

Within minutes of reading it, I found myself standing at the foot of Ella's bed, watching her breathe in and out, then soaking in the warmth of her body as I scooped her up into my arms for just a few seconds. Afterward, I tiptoed into Milo's room and laid my hand gently on his back as I listened to his soft snoring and watched his red angel lips pucker while he dreamt. I was all at once filled with such intense gratitude for this life that I live and yet pissed beyond belief that any parent should have to hold their child while they breathe their last breath. And I'm scared. Because I know deep down inside that there's no reason this couldn't happen to me. For as much as life is precious, it seems it is that much more unpredictable.

These parents have just done something I hope and pray to God I never have to do. It is truly every parent's worst nightmare. And just when you think it couldn't get any tougher for this family, the dad found out he was fired from his job at the company he had worked at for several years because of the amount of time he had to take off of work to care for his family. Yes, you read that correctly. Fired. They have drained their savings account due to the cost of medical bills and are now in the position of having to come up with enough money to bury their own son.

Could I ask something of you? During this season of thankfulness, if your child(ren) are healthy and sleeping away up in their beds, maybe you would consider donating something to this family in their honor? (Paypal address is listed on Tyler's website). Every penny counts. If nothing else, just hug your loved ones close and cherish the moment you have with them right now- right this second. it's the only moment that really matters, and the only one we're ever guaranteed.

Rest in peace, Tyler. <3

Thirty Days of Thankful {Days 1 and 2}

This probably should be the "29 Days of Thankful" but it doesn't have that nice alliteration and I plan to make up for it. Yesterday- the first day of November, I was thankful for a day to run errands and go to the grocery store by myself. This was something that would not have made it on the thankful list 3 years ago, but now joins the ranks with other things like oh, a shower, or maybe an uninterrupted cup of hot coffee (you know, instead of having to stick it in the microwave two or three other times to re-heat it). I wouldn't trade these crazy, exhausted years for anything, but I'm sure my husband might like it if I smelled good, occasionally. ;)


TODAY, I'm thankful for family- both Jake's and mine here in the area. I sometimes wonder how we would make it without them and I'm also fairly certain that NONE of us would have survived the move this summer without their help. I was never able to live close to my grandparents when I was younger, so the fact that Ella and Milo are already so close (and not just in proximity) to my parents and Jake's parents is something I consider a huge blessing. Between their aunts, great aunts, cousins (and second cousins) and even great grandparents, my children are continually showered with love and affection by family members who want to have a part in helping to raise them, and I love this. I love it, not just because it means that we don't have to shoulder the heavy responsibilities of raising our kids on our own, but because I hope it means that we are helping to continue the legacy set forth by our parents, and that is exactly what is printed on the picture in our playroom: "Other things may change us, but we start and end with family."