Empathy

For as challenging as Maya can be these days, she also has a real empathetic side — and is really in-tune to how people around her are feeling.

“Mommy are you sad?” “Are you fwus-ta-wated with Benny?” “Mommy, are you not happy with me?”

I try to keep it real; tell her when I’m upset and why. Usually she knows; I pretty much wear my heart on my sleeve.

And every so often, she shows a glimmer of her “younger” self … her empathetic self. Continue reading “Empathy”

Triggers of a Different Kind

Triggers of all kinds exist everywhere.

Whether you’re a recovering alcoholic, drug addict, binge eater, shopaholic, disordered eater … triggers exist everywhere in life and they seem just as prominent in the blogosphere — where we choose what we read (whereas we have limited choice over what we see when we walk, shop, work, eat, etc).

I know at my worst, I couldn’t read some blogs because I felt the blogger was masking disordered eating behaviors , or because the focus was (what I thought to be extreme) weight loss, or because they were not recovered and still struggling (to the point where the posts made me uncomfortable).

I knew what I needed, and those blogs weren’t it. So I deleted them from my Google Reader. I should note that I’ve gone back to some of them. But there are some I just can’t read. It’s nothing personal against the blogger themselves, but more my own frame of reference or, shall I say, where I was at at the time.

The difference with all of these triggers is that most of them are not visible to the naked eye in real life.

Pregnancy, however, is. Continue reading “Triggers of a Different Kind”

You Can Call Me Copernicus

sun-earth-coverFor years now, my dad — a genuine family man who would do anything for any of us — has affectionately been calling me “Copernicus.”

This has two meanings; one is sweet, and one gives me pause.

First, Copernicus believed the sun revolves around the earth and so as Daddy’s Little Girl, he tells me I’m his sunshine … and his world revolves around me (and of course my siblings and my mom).

Even at 29, I think he still sees me as the four-year old in pig-tails; the two-year old (ok, 5, 10, 12-yr old) dancing on his feet to Sting’s “They Dance Alone.”

But also, he teases me I’m “Copernicus” because, as a Type-A first-born, I seem to think the world revolves around me — or at the very least, should. Continue reading “You Can Call Me Copernicus”