I want to preface this post by saying that I’m not writing this for attention, nor am I hoping to elicit responses such as, “but Vanessa you look good.” I’m writing this because it is my hope that it’s relatable to some of my readers, or at least opens up the eyes of some people to the dangerous body obsessed culture we live in, as well as the realities of postpartum life.
As many of you are aware, I have lived a pretty active lifestyle. For four years I dedicated my exercise routine to powerlifting, and even shared my passion with my students. While powerlifting gave me great physical strength, it also made me become more critical of my body. Since I lost a lot of weight four years ago, I have become hypersensitive to every little change and every pound lost or gained. On social media I would project myself as this confident fashionista, but inside I was being incredibly critical and unkind to myself. This has been a huge struggle of mine for many years. I hate to admit it, but I care too much about what I look like, and how (I think) others think I look. Because of this, I knew that pregnancy was going to be a challenge.
As I’ve written in past posts, I kept pretty active throughout my pregnancy. The third trimester was the toughest. At about 33 weeks onward, it was very difficult for me to go on walks due to the pressure on my cervix. Even though I couldn’t take long walks around my neighborhood, I still did prenatal workouts in the comfort of my home. This, in of combination of comments such as, “you’re all belly”, led me to believe that after the baby was born my body would just snap back to what it was before. Even my OB would tell me that my stomach was going to be flat quickly after birth. For me, these types of comments would be just as unhelpful as when people told me I looked like I was carrying twins. Even throughout my pregnancy, I never weighed myself, and I always told the OB not to tell me how much weight I gained. It was better for my mental health not to know.
When I came home after Velouria was born, I cried when I looked into the mirror for the first time. I was incredibly swollen and my belly looked like a deflated beach ball. I had to wait two weeks before the swelling came down, but honestly, to my naive surprise, my belly just wasn’t shrinking as fast as I thought it would. I found myself looking at hashtags of different weeks postpartum to see what other women looked like. I was falling into the trap of comparing myself to others. On top of that, my body was in so much pain for almost four weeks after having Velouria. Due to the episiotomy, I had trouble walking, bending, and moving. My stitches even opened up after two weeks and the pain was excruciating. I had no idea that postpartum life would be this tough, and I’m not even talking about raising a newborn. I even purchased a waist binder to help with my healing, but I couldn’t fit it on until two weeks postpartum. After that, I struggled to wear it every single day for several hours because it was so uncomfortable. I also became concerned with my loose belly skin. It was not what I pictured my body to be after having the baby.
At my 6 weeks postpartum appointment, my OB cleared me for exercise. I was more than happy to get back into it, but it took a long time. For months I couldn’t do anything high intensity or with too much resistance because it hurt my pelvic floor too much, and I also suffered from tennis elbow. I was proactive and started seeing a physiotherapist to help with my pelvic health as soon as I could. My physiotherapist diagnosed me with a four-finger width ab separation. This is what was creating the bulge in my belly and caved in belly button. I was given several exercises to do everyday in order to lessen the gap, and so far, it has gone down to a one finger width separation. After speaking with a couple people and reading online, I learned that this entire process will be very long and slow. If anyone knows me, you know that I never give up; it just feels so frustrating when I see that other women just snap back so fast after having their baby while I have to work 10 times harder. Once again, I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others, but I can’t help but do so. This is something I really need to work on.
I have since done an Instagram cleanse. I unfollowed any account that made me compare myself or contained content about about dieting. Posts like “diet starts tomorrow” reinforce the idea that our body must look a particular way to meet society’s standards. It is more important for me to focus on what my body can do instead of what it looks like. I need to constantly remind myself of a TED talk I once watched, where the message was about how it’s not about bouncing back, but moving forward.
Some may read this and think I am totally vain caring so much about my body. Maybe I am. Regardless, it’s been hard. “Give yourself grace”, “give yourself time” – these are the things I am told. It’s cliche, but it’s true. I so badly want to have someone wave a magic wand to make me feel confident in my body. That’s never going to happen, so I do need to be kinder to myself. I keep saying to myself how I want my pre-pregnancy body back, but the reality is that I hated my body then too.
I hope that this is relatable to some readers. If it is, I want you to know that you are not alone. We shouldn’t care what other people think we look like, especially after giving birth. If people are going to judge me by the way I look, then those people aren’t friends. Our society cares too much about outward appearance and it has negatively affected the way I live my life. Diet culture is toxic, and it has led me to have body dysmorphic disorder. I want this to change not just for me, but for every woman who feels that there are unrealistic are harmful expectations placed upon them. I want to not just accept what I look like and who I am, but to celebrate and love me for me. I know it won’t be easy, but letting this out in the open is the right step forward. I have a daughter now, and I would never want her to feel as I have. Instead, I will teach Velouria that the value of a person is not determined by how they look, but that true beauty comes from within.
Seven Years.
“Those who have never known the deep intimacy and the intense companionship of mutual love have missed the best thing that life has to give.” – Bertrand Russell
Every year I dedicate a post to celebrate the anniversary of our marriage. This year it feels a bit different. Around this time we’re usually jet setting, travelling to a new destination to get away from reality, spending time exploring new places together. Even though travel for leisure is basically banned right now due to the pandemic, we wouldn’t have been going anywhere too far anyway because I’m 33 weeks pregnant! I would be lying if I said I’m not sad we’re unable to travel, but I have completely accepted it; Brandon and I are actually embarking on the biggest adventure of our lives! This pregnancy has brought us even closer together, which I honestly didn’t know could have been possible. It may sound cheesy and cliche, but my love and admiration for Brandon has grown, as he has been so incredibly supportive. He may not fully understand what it is like for me to be pregnant and the physical changes I’m going through, but he does his best. Emotionally, I would be an absolute disaster without Brandon by my side. There is one thing I know for certain, and that is Brandon is going to be the best father ever.
Cheers to seven years of marriage, Brandon! My love for you continues to grow and I look forward to sharing our love with our baby girl in September!
Photos: Carrie J Photography
On The First Trimester.
“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them – that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” – Lao Tzu
Thursday January 9. This is the day that would change our lives forever. As soon as I got up in the morning I mustered up the courage to take the test. For a week or so prior, I had a feeling I was pregnant, but didn’t want to admit it to myself. My period was late and my boobs were sore. I was just too scared to face reality. I recall telling my good friend the day before (while we were out in subzero weather striking) and she said, “Vanessa, you need to just take the test.” When I saw the line show up on the test that next morning I cried. I ran into the bedroom and told Brandon right away. He hugged me and told me everything was going to be ok. Going to work that day was rough. A million questions and fears ran through my mind: Am I ready? Will my identity change? Would I be a good mom? Is our house big enough?Will I still be able to enjoy the things I do? These thoughts did not end that day, but continued for pretty much the entire first trimester.
Fortunately, I pretty much had no major symptoms throughout the first trimester and had absolutely no morning sickness. There was more for me to cope with mentally and emotionally, rather than physically. I was in shock, and as I said previously, I was scared. Brandon was, and continues to be, an incredible husband who supported me every step of the way. He understood my anxieties and listened. Time was what was needed in order for me to fully realize that yes, I was going to have a baby.
As soon as I knew I was pregnant, I contacted my family doctor and had all the necessary blood tests. I then had my first ultrasound at 8 weeks. It was at this appointment that the due date of September 6 was given, and I also got to hear the heartbeat for the first time. I still remember seeing that image of a little jellybean and thinking how crazy that life was now growing inside of me. It was right before this ultrasound that we told our family the news. First was my sister, followed by visits to my parents’ house and my mother-in-law’s. Our family was ecstatic and in shock, as not everyone expected me and Brandon to start a family since we have already been together for so long. Honestly, at that point, I was still in a bit of shock myself! I also told a couple of close friends, just so I could have some more emotional support in the early stages of pregnancy.
My next set of blood tests and ultrasound were scheduled for 12 weeks, which would be near the end of the first trimester. The baby wasn’t very cooperative that day and I had to run around, do jumping jacks, and move side to side in order for the technician to get the information required. After she was able to do so, Brandon and I finally got a glimpse of what actually now started looking more like a human than a bean. It was also around this time that I started to feel my body change. Clothes were getting tighter, and while there was no clear baby bump, I felt as if I was getting a bit of a beer gut! My energy levels were still high, and I was able to do the workout routine I had been doing months prior, which included rowing, dumbbell lifting, ab exercises, and jumprope. I stopped powerlifting in late fall, so I felt no need to start back up with it at this time.
More than anything, during the first trimester, I just wanted to tell everyone I was pregnant. I absolutely hate keeping secrets! Brandon and I just wanted to play it safe before we started telling everyone. In addition to that, I found these first few months to go by the quickest. After all, I didn’t even officially know I was expecting until one month in. Also, during this time we planned a ‘babymoon’ in Miami for March Break to officially celebrate (but more about that in an upcoming post on living through a pandemic in my second trimester) and I purchased a new car to prepare for the baby.
As I said, the first trimester was more difficult for me emotionally, than physically. There were days where lots of tears were shed and fear was all that was on my mind. But there were also days of wonder and curiosity, of self growth and understanding. When I told my colleagues at school I was pregnant, I never expected such joyous reactions. Announcing on social media also had the same effect, where I was taken aback by the genuine well wishes that were sent our way. It was as if I needed the positive reassurance of others that this was in fact, going to be the best adventure Brandon and I could ever embark on.
We’re in this together 🙂
On punk.
“All punk is is attitude. That’s what makes it. The attitude.” – Joey Ramone
During the summer before grade 10, I made a bold decision – I cut my hair. Now, I don’t mean just a trim or even several inches, I cut it all off. I wanted my hair short and spiked. I wanted to feel different. I wanted to feel more like me. I also remember debuting this new haircut on the first day of school, wearing a plaid skirt and a shirt that read “girls rock”. Some may see this as a small act of teenage rebellion, but to this day, I think back on it as a moment in my life where I was not afraid to be myself. It is important to note that this was heavily influenced on my newfound love of punk music. Keep in mind that this is the year 2000, so the “punk” I was listening to was actually pop punk like Blink 182 and MXPX, but nonetheless, it was the music that encouraged me to be myself regardless of what anyone else thought.
Fast forward to today, and I am enjoying punk and post punk music more than ever before. This rediscovery actually came from my teaching. Last school year I taught a unit on the history of music in the 20th century to my grade 12 Adventures in World History class. When we got to the lesson about punk, I was so excited to expose my students to the loud sounds and outrageous looks that accompanied it. Even in 2019, the sights and sounds of the Sex Pistols still shocked my students. I even had students slow down as they were walking past my room and peak in, no doubt wondering what the heck I was playing. Later that night, I told Brandon that if I were to go back to school and get my Masters in History, I would definitely want to focus my research on punk rock. Brandon then did some quick researching himself, and purchased me books on this history of punk.
Punk has been seen as a fad. It ultimately reached its peak in 1977, then spurred into sub genres like oi punk, hardcore, and post-punk. The sounds may be different, but for me, the message remains the same. And it’s a message that is still incredibly important and relevant today. According to Lydon, labelling yourself as a punk, or anything at that matter, should be avoided. You can be influenced by something, but you need to progress to discover your own individuality. You can’t buy it in stores, it’s possibly something that you’re brought up with, your values, culture, or maybe it’s in your genetics. It’s not physical, but mental. And that’s the most important thing to remember.
On monuments.
“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” – Winston Churchill
A few months ago Notre Dame fire stirred up many emotions in me. When a co-worker of mine showed me images of the cathedral engulfed in flames, I felt my heart sink. My initial reaction was sadness and fear, as I was worried the fire would completely consume Notre Dame and there would be nothing left. For the next hour, I kept my computer on, as I continued to watch the fire rage on. About a month prior, I had just taught my Adventures in World History class a unit on monuments. Throughout my lessons (which actually included Notre Dame Cathedral), I would remind my students that our way of life is shaped by our physical, spiritual, and cultural environment, and that it is best exemplified by our buildings. Monuments and architecture in general are important because they closely reflect the way humans live and what we value. Now, this is the history teacher in me talking. Personally speaking, Notre Dame is also a symbol of a city that holds a special place in my heart. Paris is the first city I visited in Europe. For my life up until that point, it was my dream and my goal to visit Paris. Notre Dame was the first iconic site I saw in Paris, and it was this trip in particular that shaped my passion for travel and pushed forward my interest in art, history, and culture.
Along with many other people, I shared my views of Notre Dame on social media. Together we feared the ultimate destruction of this historical monument. However, I started to see that many of these feelings were seen as illegitimate because how dare we care more about a building than marginalized people or events that resulted in great loss of life. But I think these views completely miss the point. In those moments of watching the fire, I reflected on the importance of such monuments in our world history and my personal connection. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for being sad about watching Notre Dame burn.
Fortunately, it was reported that the main structure survived, many of the artifacts had been recovered, and ultimately the cathedral will be rebuilt. My fears have been absolved, but that doesn’t mean I should feel I need to take back what I felt in the moment the event was unfolding. Yes, I am completely aware of how millions of dollars have been donated by the wealthy elite, who could have used their money towards larger humanitarian crises. Though that does not sit well with me, I cannot ignore my initial praise of the significance of monuments. Just last month while visiting London, I once gain caught myself in awe of many historical structures like the Tower Bridge, Houses of Parliament, and statutes and that honour past figures or groups of people. Even the churches of Saint Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster Abbey felt meaningful to me, though I am not religious. Don’t get me wrong, individual lives are more important than buildings, but the lesson I want to be learned here is that monuments like Notre Dame, the pyramids, the Great Wall of China, etc. are testaments of the power of humanity and are part of our collective identity. The more we erase the past, the more likely it will be forgotten.
Six years.
“One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love.” – Socrates
I have a hard time remembering my life B.B. (Before Brandon). We met in grade nine, where I had the biggest crush on him. With friends, I would watch him play guitar in the music room during lunch. Apparently my mother-in-law, who was teacher at the school, just needed to ask me if I knew where he was. Sure, that sounds a bit creepy, but hey, I was young. It took Brandon couple more years to catch up, and we officially started dating not too long after my sixteenth birthday. When I tell my students our story, they often respond with, “Miss, your life is GOALS!” I am very fortunate to have already spent more than half of my life with my true love. I have said it many times, both aloud and on this blog, that Brandon is my best friend. It may sound cliche and cheesy to some, but there’s no better way for me to put it. Every day is fresh and new with him. Brandon calms my nerves and settles my anxiety; he makes me laugh and smile like no one else. And I still love to listen to him play guitar. Though it has been only six years of marriage, our story is much older, a story that is continuing to be written. I look forward to the many exciting chapters ahead!
I love you, Brandon! Happy 6 Years!
On social media.
“Basically, at the very bottom of life, which seduces us all, there is only absurdity, and more absurdity. And maybe that’s what gives us our joy for living, because the only thing that can defeat absurdity is lucidity.” – Albert Camus
Social media is toxic. There, I said it. It’s time for me to get real. The thing is, I felt like I’ve always presented myself as real online, but the truth is that I was losing my real self the more I posted. When I started my blog almost three years ago, it began as a passion project where I could write and post pictures about the things I love or are interested in. My blog had a very humble beginning, where I used free WordPress templates. I thought it looked good, and I enjoyed sharing the pictures my husband took of me and my outfits. After a few months I started to notice that there were other local bloggers, but their blogs were so professional. They had their own website domain, professionally taken photographs, and affiliate links. It was at this time I felt a need to step up my game. I purchased my own domain, and even paid someone to design a template and convert my old website into a new one. I did this because I felt that no one would look at my blog if it wasn’t as polished as the other ones I had seen. I also felt the need to post more photos on Instagram. I read somewhere that if you post more consistently, more people would be engaged with your blog. I would also try to include every hashtag possible to lead people to my blog via Instagram. I was really naive to think this is all it took; I had a professional website, my husband took good photos, and I posted consistently. This is when I discovered how fake Instagram and the whole blogging world is.
I suspect most of my followers are bots. This was something I was honestly oblivious to when I started blogging. Canned comments and fake accounts – this is what people are competing against. I strongly suspect that many bloggers/influencers even purchase followers. Apparently you are more likely to get followers if you already have thousands. This perpetuates the fact that Instagram is rifled with inauthenticity.
I also strived to keep the content real, but it wasn’t always. My husband and I would take photos, but I wouldn’t post them until a week or two later. I would save up pictures and posts in order to keep the content consistent. Though that may not be a major issue, it is intensified by other influencers. Outfits are only worn for a staged photoshoot, or the captions are flat-out lies. This ultimately creates a false reality, one that leads to feelings of inadequacy. I am guilty of having feelings of envy and jealously, when in reality these people are just trying to look real when being incredibly fake. This brought out the competitive nature in me, as it would with others, to feel that likes and follows are testaments of how good or valuable one’s content is.
Relationships in my life have also been negatively affected. The people closest to me, like my immediate family or childhood friends, know me very well and have never thought anything different about me since I started blogging. I did notice, however, that I was being negatively judged by acquaintances or people who I thought knew me better. I became viewed as a self-obsessed egocentric snob. This of course is far from the truth. What started as something to connect with people ended up creating more divisions. This is hurtful.
This will not be the end of my blog, but a new beginning. I am abandoning the fashion posts, but I will continue to share my random philosophical musings. I’m getting tired of having to meet unrealistic standards. My self esteem has gone down since I started the blog, when my hope was that it would go up. Yes, social media has been positive for reconnecting with old friends or past students, but overall, it has made a negative impact on my life. I don’t think everyone engaged in social media is a phoney, but it is a system that encourages it. I’ll still post on Instagram, but I’d like to think of this as a fresh start. Cheers to that!
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