does planking count as self harm?

Last night, my daughter Lee came to my bedside and announced that she can’t get rid of the urge of wanting to hurt herself.

She, of course, didn’t come to announce this. I had to pry it out of her. Something that was a near impossibility when this all started around the age of 17, but has become much easier now that she is 22.

At first, she asked whether she could possibly smoke some weed in the house. She doesn’t need my permission to smoke - in fact, it was I, who once talked her into starting to utilize marijuana for therapeutic purposes. She was 19 and I had to leave the country for a few weeks, leaving her home alone. At that time, I had just been informed by her therapist that she had gone from scratching to cutting herself. This news cloaked me like a scarf thrown onto a cat, rendering me nearly unable to move or spring into any useful action. How does one keep constant track of the whereabouts of every sharp object in the house? It’s impossible. And yet, I tried. Hiding scissors, micro-needling rollers, razor blades. Pointless measures to create an illusion of control for myself.

I was going to approve the in-the-house pot smoking, because when she went outside for this the last time, she got chased down by a crazy man, "wide-eyed and screaming", as she told the story, although that description could have probably applied to her as well. New York City was never a safe haven, but these post-pandemic streets are just a whole other level of unpredictable.

“You haven’t smoked in two weeks, right? Why now? In the middle of the week, when you have to be up early,” I asked.

She hesitated to tell me, which is where the prying came into play. It was to find yet another way of dealing with the thoughts of wanting to harm herself.

Lee has, for a while now, been struggling with depression, anxiety, an eating disorder and a slew of other “fun” comorbidity symptoms which often accompany these mental health challenges.

After years of therapy, she is much better at applying coping strategies to not actually hurt herself. Self-harm, ironically, serves as a pain release of another sort. It’s all the struggle within, the racing thoughts, the anxiety, the feeling of being overwhelmed that seem to find an outlet with a physical injury, she explained.

“But how would I even pull this off nowadays?” she wondered, considering the fact that she had developed a pretty debilitating fear of seeing blood or needles, often losing consciousness when in the presence of a phlebotomist at work. “I can’t cut myself .. I’ll pass out.”

“So when you’re fighting the urge, what do you do?” I asked
“I crochet, I call a friend, I do a crossword puzzle, just anything to distract myself,” she said.

“But those are just distractions, ... I think, maybe, you need to address the root of the impulse. ... Figure out how to find a healthy release for that urge”, I said, “and try to avoid idle time.”

Of course, the root of the problem is not the urge of self-harm itself. Ideally, she will, one day, find the reason for this impulse, but at that moment, as she looked at me with tears in her eyes, I felt like this would be a good place to start.

I suggested - partially joking - planking in the morning. There goes your pain right there.

Other ideas included joining a jiu jitsu gym or running her heart out on a treadmill, as she is convinced she’d get murdered if she were to run on the streets. #morepostpandemicfears

When I later spoke to my mother, who is an actual psycho-therapist (unlike me, the wanna-be-analyst) she pointed out that I cannot fix anything for her. She is already doing the work and the fact that she is employing coping strategies on her own is amazing progress. It is only time and continued patience as she goes through the motions that will create change.

when your love language is expletives

My first-born daughter's love language is physical affection. I wonder why life has given her a mother who doesn't like to be touched. I so desperately want to give her the love she needs, and she needs it, oh so desperately. She requests constant confirmation that I haven't changed my mind over how I feel about her. I don't know why. What have I done that this kid does not believe her mother's love is a permanent condition? I thought, I am a pretty conscientious parent -- I have always made an effort to talk about our feelings, good and bad. But, I guess, all my kid wants is to be held every day and even though I would die for my children, giving out hugs is a task requiring great effort where there should be none. My hugs feel mechanical and my daughter comments with amusement over my somatic shortcomings. Nonetheless, she reaches out to be touched every day.

To make things worse, I also have this bad habit of slipping with my language when I care about someone. Combined with my animal-like morning self, I'm a ticking time-bomb in the hours between approximately 6am and 9am. This psycho version of me is no stranger to my kids. When my younger daughter Nini was three years old, she once quietly woke me up with a piece of artwork she delivered to my bedside. 

"What's that?" I inquired.

"This is Mommy - angry in the morning," she explained like it's the most natural thing in the world.

As my kids have grown older, I've become even more relaxed. Too relaxed for someone who doesn't allow cursing in the house. I have developed, like my father when I was a teenager, the double-standard that I, as the parent, am allowed to use crude language when needed, but for the children to use a foul word would be a down-right abomination. Never mind the fact that, from hearsay, I know that my 18-yr-old curses like a sailor when she is with her friends. 

The other day, I yelled at Lee to wash her effin' hands and to eat her effin' french toast already (and, no effin-s but the actual F word were used). Granted, it was before 9 a.m., but who does that?! For all the self-control I can exercise throughout the day - some call me the queen of diplomacy (okay, nobody does, but I'd like to think I am) - in the morning hours, I am pure animal instincts. When the kids were younger, there were times I would simply just growl at them. Like a mother bear, but not in the affectionate way one might imagine this now.

When Lee later reminded me of my schizophrenic behavior in the morning and recommended to perhaps avoid interaction with other people before noon, I went into a bit of guilt-driven introspection. What I emerged with was that, while I may in fact be a different person in the morning who is best left alone to adjust to the waking life, the expletives targeted at my kid earlier in the day were ultimately driven by worry and love. I love my child and she is systematically starving herself into a body that more resembles a victim of famine than an average, athletic American teen from a loving, somewhat middle-class home.

When I presented my theory to her, she rolled her eyes. 

"I think my love language takes the form of expletives," I said.

"Your love language is acts of service, Mom", Lee responded without looking up from her phone.

Okay - so much for today's attempt at self-analysis.

Maybe my daughter does know how much I love her.

covid graduates

Here an article I wrote about my HS senior graduating during covid quarantine measures. Why? Because I didn't get to place this article anywhere (well, I only pitched to two publications, so there is something to be said about my lack of persistence, but let's not get into that).

It's kinda vanilla, now that I'm re-reading it. I guess, some publications like it like that, but is my blog one of them?

Senioritis & Mental Health in the Times of Covid

When my daughter started her senior year in high school last fall, I was prepared that it was going to be easier and more laid back than previous years. I was introduced to the concept of senioritis and that it was an accepted "condition" of any graduating high-schooler. However, the way this is now playing out for students around the country in the midst of the CV-19 induced society pause is a whole other level of laid back.

Both of my teenage daughters sleep until noon these days but are among the kids in their schools who actually rise early. They stay on top of their homework and wake up briefly in the morning to virtually check in, but main operating hours begin in the afternoon and last into the wee hours of the morning. I now go to sleep hours before my kids do. I just can't keep up with them.

My 18-year-old was struggling with anxiety and depression for most of the year and has never been an outdoorsy person. With such predetermined conditions, quarantine restrictions presented an ideal living situation for her. At first, I was worried that the lack of any remaining social contact she was forced to engage in at school was going to plunge her even deeper into depression. Outside of school, she had long immersed herself into self-imposed isolation, a side effect of her idling mood. When one of her favorite teachers died in a tragic accident at the beginning of March, she stayed in bed with the curtains drawn for days.

To my great surprise, however, the situation changed in ways I didn't anticipate.

A few weeks ago, my daughter's mood began to stabilize and I noticed her in relatively good spirits every day. She regained her appetite and responded to my nudges to reach out to her friends. She even joined an online group of students entering her college of choice, making new connections without anyone pushing her to do so. I am not sure what exactly is causing the change in mood, but it is probably a combination of things, the covid-19 lock down being part of the equation, for sure. Because she is now home almost all the time, I can monitor that she eats well, regularly takes a dropper of CBD oil as well as a few pellets of a homeopathic remedy (our chosen alternatives to anxiety meds), and engages in healthy daily structures -- minus the 3a.m. bedtimes, that is. She is also free of any girl drama (an inevitable part of school life, it seems) and spends daily quality time with her sister and me (#familylove). Unlike most of her classmates, she wasn’t upset about missing out on her senior trip or graduation. She was also perfectly happy with not having had to return to school, as was the case for the New York City school system this semester. The only thing she was bummed about was the cancellation of her prom. Surprising - as she does not like to party; surely a side-effect of the cloud over her head all last year.

In a group chat with her classmates, named "covid-graduates", they talk about quarantine challenges and college life uncertainties (besides discussing their food cravings and other random topics). Nobody can assure them of anything. Will college be in person, will it be online, is my scholarship promise still good? I've tried to convince my daughter of taking a gap year as some of her friends have already decided to do, but she thinks it will derail her from her path to higher education.

It's good to see that this kid, who just a few months ago was wondering about the purpose of life, is now looking to the future with what I perceive to be optimism. She just set up her college class schedule for the fall and she was excited about her virtual graduation's speaker line up. The national class of 2020 had the honor to be addressed by Barack & Michelle Obama, Malala Yousafzai, Oprah Winfrey, Jimmy Fallon, Lady Gaga, and many other celebrities.

Star studded or not, one thing is for sure -- this will be a graduation to be remembered.

the ugly face of a mother's love

My relationship with my first-born daughter Lee has been giving me nightmares.

I hate it when my fear whispers into my dreams, wrapping its fingers around my neck, pulling me out into entirely too early morning hours to remind me, as I awake with a gasp, that sh** is out of balance.

Last night, I dreamed that I had yet another argument with Lee, who is now 18 years old. She can vote, she could start her own, independent life, but she is far from it. She is, at heart and in essence, still a child. I don't know what we argued about, but I remember that, once again, I walked away exasperated, recognizing that the only solution to the problem would be for me to care less.

"You know what's the best part about life?" she asked as I walked away.
"What?" I asked with a tone.
"Death,"  she said, effectively taking a hammer to my heart.

I imagine, this dialogue sprang from my fears over thoughts of hopelessness Lee shared when she was deep in depression a few months earlier.

I am not sure whether caring less would be a viable solution.
Aren't we always afraid for the lives of our children?
How can the average mother ever discard the care for her child? Kids become adults, but mothers remain mothers. The problem is that mothers don't usually express their concerns for the well-being of their children with picture book examples of "care taking". Their true love and worry for their kid is often manifested via compulsive micromanagement and an ongoing guilt-trip commentary. I know it from my own mother, who surely loves me more than anything. So why does a mother's care assume this ugly form of condescension and continuous critique?

Even though I know my disapproval of pretty much every one of my teenager's actions isn't helping, the words still leave my mouth, sometimes creating havoc, sometimes disdain, but definitely always - discontent and, probably, a dented self-confidence as I have yet again established that I am superior in my ways of thinking. Forget that my ways may actually be better sometimes (e.g. "yes -- you do, in fact, need to eat real food and can't just have a toddler sized meal once a day and assume that will do in terms of nutrition.") -- it's not the point.

I don't know how to let go. The only way to disengage from this un-motherly behavior would be not to care at all.
The fact that my daughter seems to have issues with food (one can count the things she eats on two hands) is a permanently lodged thorn of concern. She also doesn't regulate her sleep, her electronics use, her insane work load from school, or the general need for physical activity and sun-light. As a result of the mismanagement of all these variables, she often dips back into anxiety and depression.

Maybe she just has to go through all of this to understand the importance of self-care. Maybe she has to hit rock-bottom and pull herself out on her own to learn how to live a good life. But it is hard to simply bare silent witness to this learning process - and if we are lucky, it will be a learning process. The fear in my head not allowing me to STFU is based on all the scary stories out there, how depression can lead to suicide, skipping (or discarding, rather) the whole part of learning and process.

In my dream last night, I didn't respond with care or compassion. I, as in real life, expressed my worry in the form of anger and what I said came out as a dismissive and furious guilt-trip.
Well, if you're going to kill yourself, then I hope you're aware that you are going to be taking not only a sister from your sibling, but also a mother. So you'd be taking at least three lives, not one.

Maybe my nightmare was only a portent of what was to come.
My daughter had been feeling so much better after almost a year and a half of an ever growing anxiety and depression. Finally she seemed to have come out and back into the light. She wasn't scratching her face anymore, she reconnected with her friends, she made us laugh with her bubbly personality every day, and she regained her appetite. But when she returned from her father's house later that day, I realized my dream had been a premonition, or perhaps just an intuitive connection to my child's well-being. She had changed during the few days she spent at her Dad's. She was exhausted and not feeling well. Not feeling well in the way she does when she is dipping deeper into a dark mood. Four days of sitting inside the house doing nothing but stare at a screen did immediate damage to her fragile and only recently recovered well-being.

Now it is up to me to make sure she eats a few nutritious and balanced meals, gets enough sleep, and goes out for social contact and some sun. But, it can't always be me. I have to figure out how to let go and she has to figure out how to take over.

if you want your kids to remember you one day, be a monster (apparently)

This evening, as I sat with my daughters at the dining room table, engaged in post-dinner conversation, with the occasional interjected order of mine toward the older one to eat her vegetables, the question arose about how faulty human memory can be.

Do you have any memories from your younger years? Maybe around the time you were four or five or so?  I asked my second-born, Nini, who just turned 13. She shook her head, pulling her face into a clueless expression.
I remember something! Lee exclaimed, pushing away the carrots I had heaped on her plate.

I was excited to go down memory lane with her, when she revealed that the only vivid memory she seemed to be able to produce was when I supposedly almost choked her as a 6-year-old. I was mortified! I did no such thing! I practically shouted. Nini chimed in, apparently making the mnemonic connection immediately, from just hearing that one sentence. They both then recounted the story of how I once decided that Lee, the eternal "meal-refuser",  needed to eat the ravioli I had prepared, not via any stern or demanding commands, but by apparently grabbing her mouth and practically forcing a piece of ravioli into it. I found that hard to believe. I was that worked up about ravioli?! Knowing myself, that thing was not something I slaved over by hours of dough-making or whatever it is one needs to do when making ravioli from scratch. It probably came out of a can. Not exactly a meal to be proud of. No nutritional loss on my child's side here. In fact, probably would have been a good thing not to serve them this stuff in the first place.
But, my kids insisted that I lost it over those raviolis. They were crying tears from laughter at this point, embellishing the story with probably imaginary details. I, on the other hand, was almost in tears about how monstrous this act seemed to me in hindsight. I apologized profusely and explained to them that I do not recommend exposing oneself to motherhood of small children and working full time without help. Living with little kids is like living with tiny schizophrenia patients. But, sometimes, it can be mom who just goes crazy from stress and exhaustion. .... Just make sure you have an adult (!) partner and the proverbial village, I lectured as I fumbled for another excuse which would, perhaps more successfully, make me feel better.

After a minute or so, though, I wondered --- so, you are telling me .... that you don't remember ANYTHING from your childhood ... the thousands of times I exercised patience when you wouldn't eat your food, or would tell me the meal I just slaved over for an hour tastes like curtain, ... THAT composure you don't remember? Or the fact that I laid down with you every night to read and sing to you and often wait until you fell asleep. You don't remember that? Or the weekly outings to the park or the family art projects, .... all the endless spoiling basically ... for nothing? So .. THE ONLY REASON you remember that it was, in fact, ME who raised you so far, is because I once stuffed ravioli down your throat?! If I hadn't given you this one horrible memory, you may as well have been raised by someone else cuz clearly I could be anyone. Just swap me out.

The kids could not stop laughing. And instead of producing one nice, balancing memory, they thought of another incident, when I apparently chased them into the room so I could spank Lee on the bum for whatever reason (knowing Lee, there probably was a reason, but that's beside the point).

Anyway ... so now I'm really wondering... wth was it all for,  if they seem to only remember the bad stuff? What's the point of trying to be a good mother?!!

The bad moments are certainly outweighed at 99% by good or normal/non-traumatic regular family stuff. And, even if it is just at 80%, it is still a pretty darn good childhood they're getting. But apparently, all my efforts won't matter, because what they will walk away with, is the memory of that one time when I force-fed Lee a piece of canned pasta.

inner religious turmoil (but not really)

I am sitting here ... it's Easter Sunday, the weather is unbelievably perfect, all my windows are open to let in a beautiful, warm cross breeze, birds are singing, and someone is barbecuing. It's a thing up here in my hood. The moment the temperature goes over 60 degrees Fahrenheit, people are at their grills imagining themselves in the still entirely too distant summer.
A perfect moment, but I am huffing with frustration. My kid is being taken to Easter Mass against my will. It's not that I have a problem with her joining church services. She goes to Catholic School, after all. But, the thing is ... we're technically Muslim. And, wait, this gets more complicated.

So - despite the fact that I was raised Muslim and my kids consider themselves Muslims, we don't really practice the religion. Except that we don't eat pork (that's a lie - we all secretly sneak bacon behind each other's back, for we are all worried about each other's judgment. This is particularly interesting, when we are out to brunch together with non-Muslim/non-Jewish friends and there is a plate of bacon, which we supposedly don't eat, but are all dying to add to our pancakes.)

The fact that we don't practice created the problem that my younger daughter, Nini, started to not believe in God. This to me was horrifying, for I find it a necessity of life to have faith. She may not know this now, but things can get really dark and desperate in one's time on Earth. There were times that my God belief saved me or, at least, was the only comfort I had when everything around me was in shambles and I felt completely alone. Anyway ... I don't want to get lost on this tangent but, let's just say, I would like for my children not to be atheists.
Turns out, if you don't talk about God with them (or place them in some religious community/framework), there is a good chance they will be atheists. And so, I decided, Catholic School may be a good place for my little one (who, btw, isn't little anymore - she is 12). This school also happened to be the only good option in my neighborhood.
I want her to know the stories of the Bible, for most of them are also in the Qur'an, and I believe, knowing the main stories of the Abrahamic books is kinda common knowledge. That said, I also don't necessarily want her to believe them, literally.

Easter Sunday is big for Christians. I understand that Easter Mass isn't just regular church service. It means a lot. Urbi et Orbi and stuff. (My mom is Catholic; she, and by default - we, would watch the pope's blessing on Easter Sunday every year.). So, it's one thing if my kid has to attend the service every day at school, but it's another thing if she goes to Easter Mass with other people outside of school. (She had spent the night at a friend's house.)
I decided that I needed to counter-balance this event with some research on my part. Put the whole Easter thing in Muslim perspective for her. Just so she has a reference and her information isn't just one-sided. I felt, it's my duty as a mother. The reality here is, of course, that I am outsourcing her religious education and I need to figure out how to make sure she doesn't get lost over there. (Nini, btw, isn't really that invested. I'm most likely freaking out for no reason, for she just wants to hang out with her friends who happen to all be dragged to church by their more involved parents. ... "They just sang a whole lot of songs and gave us a bottle of holy water, which I forgot at my friend's house," Nini reported when I voiced my concerns about all this.). Nonetheless, I spent my Easter morning researching how Islam sees the whole resurrection of Christ story. Hence the earlier mentioned frustration. It seems impossible to find an unbiased opinion out there. Why can't I just get facts? Ideally, I would like historical facts, combined with direct quotes from the Qur'an and then a juxtaposition of this to the Biblical texts, explaining the differences and why such differences may have developed.

What I have learned from my hours of reading at various places on the internet are the following things:
 - Christians didn't really do Easter since the beginning of their time (it's a thing of the New Testament)
- The cross wasn't a Christian symbol (or, at least, there is a question about its origins)
- Muslims believe in Jesus (of course) but what I didn't realize is that they also believe in him as the chosen Messiah (Christ) who is said to return one day, in Damascus of all places. They also believe he is the only one of God's prophets who was without sin.
- Easter is heavily influenced by Pagan rituals (no news to most of us, as that's a historical fact ... combination of Christian and Pagan rituals to make the transition easier for people .. Easter bunny is a sign of fertility ... Christmas tree is a traditional/folkloric thing .. as we now know, Jesus was born in March).
- Muslims don't believe Jesus died on the cross but that God saved him

But - that's pretty much all I could find until I gave up. It wasn't enough information and, ultimately, just one belief against the other - so, nothing I could work with.

This whole excursus just reminded me of the fact that accurate accounts of anything are hard to come by. People twist stories the way they want to see things all the time. I believe, now we have a term for this: "alternative facts". Even when we have EVIDENCE to the contrary (e.g. video footage), people are still able to perpetuate completely fabricated "truths".
Now - what are the chances, man has been in the habit of doing this since the beginning of time?

Just sayin' ....

I guess, that's why we have to take all these stories with a grain of salt, or a big pinch of it, or, the whole salt shaker on occasion (especially, as it comes to religion).

I suppose, the best way to approach this is to find statements and messages that overlap or repeat in all the main religious stories. Those are probably the most accurate and worthy of consideration, if you so will. Also - the ones that speak to your inner compass. I think, we have all been equipped with it, but it can get corrupted over time and then those general rules come in handy (given, said people accept them as God-given laws).

 - Thou shalt not kill
                    .... steal
                    .... commit adultery
                    .... covet your neighbor's stuff (and wife)
                    etc., etc.
                 
plus ....
- honor your parents
- pray
- treat people the way you would like to be treated (you know, ... the do unto others thingy)

Not bad guidelines to live by.


Btw. ... I totally gave my kids chocolate Easter bunnies yesterday, as they were leaving for the weekend. And Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year - mostly because of that pretty tree.

school dress codes: a form of slut-shaming?

After reading this (and watching all the embedded videos) ...
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2016/10/23/1578415/-Damn-those-dress-codes-Young-feminists-are-taking-a-stand

.... I had to take a moment to comment:

I have several things to say here…. as a female, a feminist, and mother of two teenage girls.

1.) A dress code isn’t teaching boys that it is okay to harass women/girls if they’re showing skin. Their upbringing, their character, and the company they keep will nurture or shun such Neanderthal behavior .. which brings me to point number 2...

2.) The last video snippet mentions, dress codes are *teaching* boys that they are “biologically programmed” to objectify women. No offense, but aren’t they (the great majority, anyway)? … They are biologically programmed to spread their seed. #facts

3.) I don’t understand in which way teaching girls how to dress more modestly (and with more awareness) is slut shaming. But honestly, I’m still not completely sure what slut shaming *really* is. Schools' clothing policies are just an attempt to reverse a different type of dress code. One that seems to be deeply embedded in most teens of today’s society: the hyper-sexual dress code imposed on our girls by the media, only that they seem to be so “brain-washed”, they don’t even know they are adhering to a code.
I can’t tell you the drama that goes on in my house about clothing choices every morning. Why? Why?! You are going to school. Throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. Done. It’s not a fashion show. You’re going there to learn...which brings me to point number 4....

4.) There are some disturbing comments being made by school administrators in these videos. ("Not all behinds look cute in leggings" .. ?!! Ehm, what?!) …. Not only are such comments distorting the message, but they are also insulting, thus creating a rebellious response.
This shouldn’t be about rebellion — it should be about education. The problem is that schools are trying to undo damage that has already been done. .. Or, let’s say “change” instead of “damage”, only that I still have to be convinced it’s the former and not the latter. I’m not a total prude, I swear, but I have lived long enough on this planet to know that it is NOT just a saying that “boys will be boys” … it’s a fact. And, if these boys/men have learned how to behave themselves, which many of them have, they’re still thinking things…. and this brings me to my last point…

5.) I would like to see some interviews with boys and men about the subject matter. All we are hearing here (in the videos) are girls’ opinions. Us wishing that most men are not driven by sexuality, is naive. They simply are. Most of them, anyway. Which is why women’s bodies sell products so well. Which is why female models, on average, make 70% more than male models. .. It’s sad, but it’s a fact. … And, ultimately, that fact should make you, as a female, want to cover up, for such an act will be truly rebellious, make your body yours (and I don't mean burka-style, obviously). Divert the attention to what should matter only — your intellect, your talents, your character. … But… yea, okay .. that’s wishful thinking, too. That’s never going to happen. People are entirely too superficial to not care about appearances. (big sigh)


PS: In the meantime, I am trying to package this message in a way that doesn’t result in me slut-shaming my daughters, who are vehemently supporting the ideas outlined in the above linked article. In the end, all I want is children that think critically, walk with self-awareness as well as self-respect, and who understand the basic workings of this world. I also want them to have the courage to change what they see as wrong and take a stand about the things they're passionate about. However, I’m not sure if this here is a misguided fight...What should be our/their target is the media and how it portrays (and dresses) women and girls.