I Told My Mum I Wanted To Get My Tubes Tied At Age 20. Her Response Changed My Life

Posted on 24/10/2023 by Boris Clair

I love my little nephew. He has a kid-sized broom that he uses to dance around in his diapers to Freddie Mercury songs as if it’s his microphone.

And I love my little niece, to whom “uppy” means both “pick me up” and “put me down,” and to whom “no” is a magical word for exercising newfound willpower.

I’m always happy to see them, and I have a great time learning from and with them about the world. But when they go home, and the house is so nice and quiet, I breathe a deep sigh of thanks: I get to give them back!

Then I can decide with my husband, Tim, to suddenly go out for dinner (without a diaper bag or babysitter), to go camping, or to visit a casino. We can go see some raucous band and stay out till 1am, or we can fall asleep on the couch watching TV and drinking wine, and wake up whenever we want.

I’m in the phase of life when so many people I know ache to become parents, but meanwhile, I love being child-free. This is, believe it or not, all thanks to my own mum, who also loved her child-free life before she had kids, and made sure to let me know that was OK.

My mum is a badass. She was a nerd growing up, just like me. And just like me, she wanted to travel and go to college, but she had very few financial resources.

So, one day, she joined the army as an interpreter. She went to a language institute and passed a Russian-language program that only a tiny portion of her incoming class passed, and then flew to Germany to work on a mountaintop compound. She was one of three women in a company of 300 men listening to German and Russian soldiers on the radio, translating it all into English for Army intelligence.

That’s where she met my dad. They got married and travelled, came back stateside, and went to college. Roughly eight years later, they had me.

It’s no wonder, then, that when my mum asked me what I wanted from my life as I was having a teenage existential meltdown, I said: “I just want to have an extraordinary life.”

I wanted to travel, take risks, get into trouble, have adventures, go to college and, eventually, make what I hoped would be a positive difference in the world.

I was inspired by my mum’s own life. And at that time in my world, like her, I felt limited only by money, as I had all the other great propulsive forces of youth, like energy, recklessness and idealism. Plus, after my parents’ divorce, my mum, my brother and I lived in my grandmother’s attic, and space was a little tight.

I wanted to explode outward into newness. So when I did move out of the house with my first boyfriend, at about age 20, and my period was late one month, that potential pregnancy felt to me like a very bad thing – not a boon.

I hadn’t travelled.

I hadn’t gone to college, or had any adventures.

I hadn’t taken any big risks.

I sure hadn’t made a difference in the world.

Nick was a nice boyfriend, and he told me he’d get on board with whatever path I wanted to choose: get married and have the baby, have the baby and not get married, put the baby up for adoption, or get an abortion.

I thought about it for a few days and tried on all of these options in my mind. But after much mulling, the only way that felt right was to go on with my original plan of having a wild and free life. I didn’t want a baby. I didn’t want to be pregnant.

I felt like I was about to get stuck in my hometown for the next few decades, changing diapers and picking out public schools.

I decided I would get an abortion on the same day my period came back of its own volition, and I heaved a mental sigh of relief.

However, I was very aware that I had dodged a big baby-sized bullet, despite all of my birth control efforts from the age of 15 onward. And I decided, if I was not to become a mum, that I wanted to be able to have sex like a man, with fewer consequences in the reproductive department.

The author, in her early 30s, with her mom in Arizona.

I was able to admit to myself for the first time that I knew I did not ever want to have kids – at least not in any traditional biological sense. If I ever changed my mind about mothering, well, there are millions of kids in the world needing homes.

So, I went and talked to the only person I felt might really understand my need to not mother: my mother.

My mum did something very important for me as I was growing up: she’d told me about some of her experiences in the sex realm, helped me to understand what I was feeling when these experiences started to arise for me, and answered all my questions about how this weird and impactful part of life worked.

Because of this open channel of communication, I knew that my grandmother had flown my mum to Japan in the ’60s for an abortion when she was 18, after American doctors they’d consulted said she “didn’t look sad enough” for a procedure here.

And just as I’d hoped she would, my mum helped me. She offered to take me to get an intrauterine device. I said I’d prefer to just have my tubes tied and be done with it, having already heard my fair share of IUD health horror stories (including hers).

And instead of telling me to “just wait and see” or that I would “probably change my mind” like so many other people have, she called around and got me into an abortion clinic, where I sat down with a counsellor and earnestly explained my desire never to have children. Within a week or two, I had an outpatient tubal ligation procedure.

Looking back now, I realise it must have taken my mum a lot of searching to find a doctor willing to perform this on such a young woman with no previous children; most doctors wouldn’t have, whether out of fear of being sued if I did “change my mind,” or because so many people still believe that all women inherently want or ought to have children.

I also know now, having had my own health care plans and understanding what “elective surgery” means, that when my mum said she had “wrangled things out with our health plan,” she meant she had in fact quietly paid for this surgery for me out of pocket.

So here I am, child-free at 40 and at the doorstep of menopause, remembering, with gratitude, this generous gift. I also remember those other voices:

“You might change your mind.”

“You’re just not ready yet.”

“Your biological clock will kick in someday.”

These are sentiments that have floated around me for years, before and after my tubal, not only from the popular media but from people I’ve loved and trusted. And these are mythologies that surround every woman on the planet, every day: the idea that we are born and built to breed.

“Womanhood is not synonymous with motherhood. For many of us, our truest selves are the selves without progeny.”

We are, as an American culture at least, very much in midprocess of correcting this idea. Womanhood is not synonymous with motherhood. For many of us, our truest selves are the selves without progeny.

And when people, often women, ask me how I feel about things now, I tell them wholeheartedly that I’ve never regretted my decision to amend my reproductive capacities – not once. (I’ve even recommended the procedure to interested parties.) But it’s also important to acknowledge that if I did have regret, it would have been my own choice to regret – not anyone else’s. And that kind of regret, born of agency, is still good; it would have been mine to own.

Needless to say, it’s since become important to me that other women know this “child-free by choice” option is viable from early on in our lives.

I would have been a bad mum at 20: resentful and risky and selfish. I’d still be a mostly bad mum – a little more risk-averse, but covetous of my time alone, my mobility, and my ability to have sex anytime I want without period planning, birth control side effects, and potentially life-changing consequences. I’ve gotten to move over 25 times in the past two decades, meet a ton of people, see and do crazy things, and go to college – a lot.

I’ve been able to reallocate my energy to get really good at other things besides mothering. Not that I buy into the “either-or” myth of motherhood; there are many amazing women who can manage an impressive amount of autonomy, professionalism and wildness while still doing right by their children. It’s just that I knew I couldn’t – and I didn’t want to anyway.

And it’s because people listened to me – my mum and the counsellors and doctors at Oregon’s Lovejoy Surgicenter – that I was able to live the life I wanted to live.

So my takeaway here, besides the closely related “vote pro-choice” sentiment, is that when someone, especially a woman, says, “I don’t think parenthood is for me,” we need to honour and respect them in the same way we would an aspiring parent. Both choices are equally natural, equally potent and equally rich with possibility.

Doctors, support women in permanent birth control when they ask for it. Friends and family, believe what women tell you about their bodies.

Then there remains just this little bonus takeaway: We should remember to enjoy, and to spoil, our nieces and nephews, at least a bit, before we give them back to their parents, who chose the hard work that parenthood entails.

Lydia Paar is an essayist and fiction writer. Her essay “Erasure” was of notable mention in the 2022 “Best American Essays” collection, and was the 2020 winner of North American Review’s Terry Tempest Williams Creative Nonfiction Prize. The New England Review nominated her as a finalist for its 2021 Award for Emerging Writers, and her works have been showcased in outlets such as Literary Hub, The Missouri Review, Essay Daily, Witness, Hayden’s Ferry Review and others. The recipient of an MFA from Washington University in St. Louis and a master’s from Northern Arizona University, Paar is also a former recipient of a Frederick & Frances Sommer Fellowship and of a Millay Arts residency. She currently co-edits for the NOMADartx Review and teaches writing at the University of Arizona. Her first full-length essay collection, “The Entrance Is the Exit: Essays on Escape,” is forthcoming from the University of Georgia Press. She can be reached there or at www.lydiapaar.com.

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I Quit My Job To Stay Home With The Kids — And It’s Not What You’d Expect

Posted on 22/09/2023 by Boris Clair

Simi Sapir immigrated to New York City from Israel when she was 10 years old and grew up watching her parents hustle, taking on multiple jobs to provide for their four children. Her mother worked in a day care and a supermarket, and her father, who had a master’s degree in engineering, took to driving a taxi at one point in order to bring in income.

By the time she was a teen, Sapir was spending her summers working as a camp counselor. Over the years, she worked at the same supermarket as her mother, a store and a pizza shop.

“I think immigrant mentality, especially growing up in Queens, New York, it was like, you work — and not only do you work, but it’s in your blood to work. And I think that was, from a very early age, instilled in me,” Sapir told HuffPost.

She carried this commitment to paid work and financial independence through college, at one point taking a semester off to work in order to be able to pay for school. After graduation, she headed at full speed into a career in business, and by the time she turned 30, she’d already overseen the acquisitions of two companies. Hers was “the perfect VP of sales resume,” she said, and she didn’t slow her pace when she became pregnant — even hopping on an airplane when she was eight months along in order to close a deal.

Simi Sapir left a successful, demanding career in business to care for her daughter full-time.

As planned, Sapir returned to her position 12 weeks after her daughter’s birth. The pandemic had hit, so she was working from home while a nanny cared for the baby. But working her usual long hours no longer felt manageable.

Every day, she said, felt like “a crazy grind.”

“I just felt like, ‘Why is my kid with somebody from 9 to 5, and I can’t go to my kitchen because if she sees me, she starts screaming [and] then I feel bad.’”

Early morning calls from her CEO, she found, now felt like “a sacrifice” and “intruding into my personal time.”

The tipping point came when her boss offered her a new job title that would come with more responsibilities and a salary increase — the sort of offer that Sapir would’ve jumped at earlier in her career. This time, however, she looked at the offer and said, “This is just not worth it.”

After 16 months of what she describes as the push and pull of this situation, Sapir quit. Yes, she was exhausted — but she didn’t leave because she felt incapable of continuing. Rather, she left because she felt confident that full-time mothering was the right move.

The company offered more flexibility, part-time work and increased compensation to try to convince Sapir to change her mind. But she was resolute.

What they didn’t understand, she said, was that “it’s not the money.”

“The idea that I want to jump into this new chapter in my life, which, by the way, is not — as I tried to explain to them — is not less important or more important; it’s equally a different chapter. Just like you focus on your career, you can focus on your family.”

“About one month back into work, I knew it was not going to work out.”

– Lisa Ziemba

Lisa Ziemba, a Colorado mom who is expecting her second child next month, had a similar experience after her daughter was born two years ago. When her maternity leave ended, she returned to her position as the manager of HR for a group of construction companies.

Ziemba was working from 8 in the morning until 5 or 6 at night, with a 40-minute commute each way. She was putting in additional hours after getting her daughter to bed as well. “I was getting like maybe an hour a day with her — which just did not feel right.”

Of her decision to leave her job, Ziemba told HuffPost, “I didn’t see it coming, going into my maternity leave. But about one month back into work, I knew it was not going to work out.”

As with Sapir, Ziemba’s superiors tried to dissuade her with offers of flex time and increased compensation.

“We kind of went back and forth where they were like, ‘What can we give you?’ And I was like, ‘I need time.’ They were like, ‘That’s the one thing we can’t give you.’”

Who are today’s stay-at-home mothers?

The decision to spend time with their young children at home is one that mothers like Ziemba and Sapir have made consciously. Having experienced life in both worlds, they decided to extend their time in the role of what we typically refer to as a stay-at-home mother.

It’s a bit of a misnomer, Sapir notes, “Because I’m literally never home.”

It’s also a far cry from the old June Cleaver image of a mom who never pursues a career or acquires any of her own income and dedicates any time she’s not with her children to cooking and housekeeping.

“I don’t even own an apron,” Sapir noted.

A recent report from Mother Untitled, a digital community for mothers “choosing to pause or shift [their] career to make room for family life,” reveals that, while they’re up against some of the same stereotypes, the lives of today’s full-time mothers and their expectations for the future are markedly different than those of their predecessors.

The report details a survey of 1,200 mothers who had left or were considering leaving their jobs for full or part-time stay-at-home motherhood. The mothers were between the ages of 25-54 and had bachelor’s degrees, children under age 18 at home and a minimum annual income of $25,000 (ages 35-34) or $35,000 (ages 35 and up).

In some cases, these mothers worked part-time or occasional hours, often remotely. They likely worked up until their transition to parenthood and anticipated returning to the workforce in some capacity in the coming years.

A majority of the mothers surveyed, 7 in 10, said that they “chose to pause their careers for parenthood.” In comparison, 1 in 10 felt forced out of their jobs, while 2 in 10 felt both that they chose and were forced.

Elizabeth Burdett didn't plan to become a stay-at-home mom. She said the opportunity "fell into my lap." — Elizabeth Burdett didn’t plan to become a stay-at-home mom. She said the opportunity “fell into my lap.”

If you’re wondering what that last category could possibly look like, Elizabeth Burdett’s story illustrates the way that an economy shifting toward gig work can push parents away from full-time employment. And some, like Burdett, find that they prefer the place where they’ve landed.

Burdett worked full-time from home writing content for a website and returned to this position (with the support of a nanny) once her maternity leave was up. Then, around the time she found out she was pregnant with her second child, the company was sold, and Burdett was laid off.

As she was both expecting a baby and preparing for a move, Burdett decided not to pursue another full-time position. She did freelance work before her second son was born and again between his birth and the arrival of a third child.

“Since having all three of them, I have dabbled a little bit in some freelance writing and copyediting work, but for the most part, I am home with my boys,” Burdett told HuffPost. “I do a little copyediting work, but 80-85% of the time, I’m a stay-at-home mom.”

“I didn’t at first intentionally say, ‘I am quitting my job, I want to stay at home,’ but it fell into my lap,” she said.

Still, she sees the arrangement as a choice her family made to suit its current needs. “We are making the decision to have me be at home and experience those early years. I want to,” she said.

“I’m well aware that I have the privilege to make that decision if I want to work or not,” she added.

Of course, there are also still mothers who have always wanted to stay at home with young children and simply follow through with that plan. Emily Holewczynski is a mother of five in the Chicago area who left her job as a marketing manager for a law firm when her first child was born.

Emily Holewczynski, a mother of five, always planned to be a full-time mother to her children.

“It sounds anti-feminist, but it’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” Holewczynski told HuffPost. “My mom stayed home with me, and I’m actually the oldest of five kids as well. It’s what I knew, and I was blessed and fortunate enough to have a wonderful childhood. And in my mind, a large part of that was because my mom was there every day with us.”

“I just knew that if I was lucky enough to be in a financial position where I could do that for my kids, that I wanted to be able to,” she added.

Holewczynski appreciates that staying home gives her control over the handling of her children’s needs.

“It gives me peace of mind to in knowing that some of those more delicate moments are being handled by by me — the person who loves [my daughter] the most,” she said.

Most mothers in the survey said their reasons for staying home included wanting to spend time with their child (83%) and not missing their child’s learning/developmental milestones (77%). In comparison, 62% cited the cost of child care as a reason for staying home.

Seventy-two percent said the loss of household income was worth the advantages of having a parent at home. However, their financial lives were not free from stress. They worried about having to rely on their partners for income (56%), not having enough money for leisure activities (52%) and not having enough money for emergencies (41%). The longer women had been in the workforce before deciding to stay home, the more likely they were to have financial worries.

The full-time mothers of today still face old stereotypes.

While today’s stay-at-home mothers are choosing to leave the workforce and see the benefits of their decision, they face a lot of the same challenges as women of generations past. Sixty-eight percent of those surveyed, for example, reported that they felt underappreciated.

The idea that mothers should put their children first and themselves last is also alive and well. When asked to select the different ways they measured their success from a list of options, 54% of the full-time mothers selected their children’s mental health. Thirty-one percent selected their kids’ physical health. Yet only 19% selected their own mental health — the same percentage that chose “If my home is clean and organised” — and a scant 4% selected their own physical health.

Full-time mothers understand that the work they’re doing is important and has a huge impact on their families. At the same time, they know that their unpaid labor is dismissed by society at large — and, as the report suggests, they often dismiss it themselves by neglecting their own needs.

When you’re a full-time, unpaid child care provider, for example, it can feel strange to pay someone else for a few hours of child care.

Ziemba says she is able to meet her child care needs by turning to local family members. She also belongs to a child care co-op, and this grants her a few hours a week to do work for a foundation she is involved in.

The survey found that grandparents were the child care providers that full-time mothers most often turned to, with 39% using this option. But for those without family nearby, there seemed to be few alternatives.

“I have a very hard time wrapping my head around asking for help, considering I am [a] full-time, stay-at-home [mom],” Burdett said. At the same time, she has seen how taking a little time away for herself has “rejuvenated” her and has value.

“Just because you’re home doesn’t mean you don’t need support — but it’s something I struggle with,” she said.

What will be the next chapter?

Most of the mothers in the survey and all of the mothers HuffPost spoke to plan to do paid work again at some point. Few, however, have their sights set on a typical 9-to-5 office job.

Mothers in the survey reported that the top things they would look for in their next job were: flexibility (85%), stress level (74%) and salary (71%). Those jobs probably won’t look like the full-time-plus corporate positions that Sapir and Ziemba once had — and they aren’t longing for that kind of work again anytime soon.

Motherhood has shifted their priorities and their perspective, they say, and their needs and desires have changed.

Ziemba doesn’t have plans to return to work until her youngest child is in preschool — and she and her husband still haven’t decided how many children they’d like to have. So work is years away, but she imagines perhaps working more for the foundation she’s involved in or setting up her own home organizing business.

No matter which avenue she pursues, she’s not currently feeling any rush to get there.

“I’m no longer driven by the fear of, ‘How long am I going to be out and is it going to ruin my career?’” she said.

“I was really fearful when I left that I was ending my career. And since then, I’ve met so many women who have also left to care for their young kids and have gotten back into the workforce and have found roles that are actually more interesting and engaging than the ones that they had before. And it’s shifted my mindset a lot,” Ziemba said.

Several of the mothers interviewed are interested in writing-related work, which can frequently be done on a freelance basis with flexible hours.

“The notions of stay-at-home and working mother are no longer black and white,” Neha Ruch, CEO of Mother Untitled, told HuffPost. “There’s a gray area.”

In contrast to what many people assume, full-time mothering no longer looks like it did in the 1970s. Today’s mothers, Ruch explained, are more educated, have more equal relationships with their partners, and are more digitally connected than any previous generation.

These mothers, she continued, want “to basically take a lot of the consciousness they brought to their career and bring it to the home for a period of time.”

In a post she made on LinkedIn to announce her decision to step back from her career, Sapir wrote: “Ultimately, if you are doing something you love with people you love in a place you love, you’re going to create something of great value to the world.”

The One Health Care Provider Most People Should See After Giving Birth, But Don’t

Posted on 10/07/2023 by Boris Clair

After weekly medical check-ins at the end of pregnancy, most people won’t see a health care provider until six weeks postpartum. At that point, if it looks like healing is proceeding well, they are officially “cleared” to have sex and exercise again.

Following delivery, the focus tends to shift to the baby’s health (how much are they eating, sleeping or crying?) and away from the person who gave birth.

Common postpartum physical complaints such as incontinence or pain in the back, pelvis or genitals are often written off as par for the course, as though pregnancy and birth are expected to do some damage to the body.

While postpartum healing is a process, and most people need some time before they feel “back to normal,” there are things that you can do to support healing and lessen pain and discomfort.

One proactive step you can take is to make an appointment with a physical therapist, who can evaluate you for common postpartum issues and recommend exercises to prevent incontinence and pain.

Postpartum physical therapy isn’t the norm in the U.S., but in other countries, such as France, it’s standard care.

Pregnancy’s impact on the body

After weekly medical check-ins at the end of pregnancy, most people won’t see a health care provider until six weeks postpartum.

There are multiple ways that pregnancy can put a strain on your musculoskeletal system. The hormonal shifts of pregnancy don’t only affect your reproductive organs.

“What happens is the joints can become a little more loose and lax,” Jenni Limoges, a physical therapist in Nevada specialising in pelvic floor issues, told HuffPost. This loosening helps your pelvis expand to make room for the baby, but it can also trigger pain from a previous back or hip injury or result in new discomfort.

In addition, as your belly grows, your body has to adjust to a new centre of gravity. “It tends to pull people forward. It creates instability,” said Limoges.

Your pelvis tips forward, and the muscles in your back, pelvis and hips all shift, either lengthening or shortening. Your abdominal muscles separate to make space for the baby. Even your feet change, flattening out to support your pregnant body (many people find they go up a shoe size following pregnancy).

Your pelvic floor muscles provide a sort of shelf inside your hip bones that supports all of the internal organs, including the uterus. There are three layers and nine different muscles that work in concert, Limoges explained.

“These muscles help us stay dry,” she said, and play a key role in sexual functioning. The way these muscles have to stretch to accommodate pregnancy and allow for delivery can cause them to become too stiff or too loose, causing pain or incontinence (urinary and/or faecal).

“I often times hear of people saying that they want to opt for a C-section because they think this protects their pelvic floor,” said Ruba Raza, a North Carolina-based physical therapist who also specialises in pelvic floor, pregnancy and postpartum issues. However, Raza told HuffPost that you can still have pelvic floor issues following a C-section.

“Regardless of the mode of delivery, it is important to see a pelvic floor physical therapist if you are having symptoms during or after pregnancy,” Raza said.

“A lot of people do not seek out our services during pregnancy because they
assume that their symptoms will improve postpartum, but with most concerns, these can continue and even worsen if they are not addressed.”

Common postpartum issues

In addition to urinary and faecal incontinence, other common postpartum complaints that can be addressed with physical therapy, Raza said, include: “Sacroiliac joint pain [the sacroiliac joints link the pelvis to the bottom of the spine], constipation, low back pain, pelvic floor pain, C-section scar sensitivity, pain with intercourse and rectal pain.”

Many of the common postpartum complaints such as pelvic floor pain, C-section scar sensitivity and back pain can be addressed with physical therapy,

Another issue you may have heard about is diastasis recti. A line of connective tissue called the linea alba runs down the middle of your stomach and fastens together on both sides of your abdominal muscles.

During pregnancy, this tissue stretches out and often separates to accommodate your growing uterus. After delivery, it generally closes back up again over the course of eight weeks or so. If it doesn’t close back up, you may notice that you continue to have a belly pouch, as though you were still pregnant. You may also have pain or incontinence.

Because movements like traditional abdominal crunches can worsen diastasis recti, it’s important to work with a knowledgeable provider who can prescribe exercises to help your diastasis recti heal.

What treatment looks like

Physical therapy for postpartum issues generally involves weekly visits.

“The typical model for the pelvic floor is one-on-one for an hour,” said Limoges, adding that you should feel the results as soon as a couple of weeks in.

“I definitely expect within four to six weeks you’re seeing some improvements,” she continued.

Raza said she typically sees patients once a week for six to eight weeks, but of course, this varies based on the nature and severity of the issue they’re dealing with.

“The plan is very individualised to the patient’s concerns or symptoms,” she said. There are a multitude of exercises your physical therapist may teach you and have you practice at home.

Limoges explained that the treatment for pelvic floor issues such as incontinence depends on whether the problem is that the muscles are too stiff or overstretched and lacking in tone.

With incontinence, it’s common to hear the blanket advice to do Kegel exercises (contracting the pelvic floor muscles — the ones you use to stop urination mid-stream), but these can be counterproductive if the issue is stiffness. For this reason, it’s a good idea to have an evaluation with a physical therapist before starting any exercise program to address your problem.

While a good portion of the evaluation involves the physical therapist learning what your symptoms are, and sometimes this can even be done via a remote telehealth visit, if you’re having a pelvic floor issue, an internal pelvic exam is usually necessary at some point.

“I like to tell people, ‘I’m not the gynaecologist’s office, so I don’t use stirrups,’” said Limoges.

“I typically do a scan of tissue first, just to make sure everything looks OK. And then for the internal assessment, I insert my finger vaginally, and I’m checking each layer of muscles.” This internal exam allows the physical therapist to assess the muscle’s flexibility and to see if there is organ prolapse.

Your therapist will likely want to see how long you can hold a contraction of your pelvic muscles (a Kegel). The standard goal is ten seconds. They will also want to see how quickly you can contract the muscles and whether you have any pain.

While a physical therapist may recommend Kegel exercises if they find a lack of tone in your pelvic floor muscles, there are many other types of exercises they may prescribe.

Raza and Limoges discussed using breathing exercises with postpartum pelvic floor patients. Other possibilities include stretches, squats, and what Limoges called “self-tissue mobilization,” in which you apply gentle, internal pressure to the layers of muscle.

Each physical therapist stressed the importance of finding a way for a new parent to work these exercises into their day in a way that is feasible.

“I love incorporating exercises into activities that the patient is already doing,
such as adding in a pelvic floor and core contraction every time the patient completes a transitional movement or working on diaphragmatic breathing and pelvic floor relaxation while they are breastfeeding their baby,” said Raza.

Limoges also mentioned feeding/pumping as an opportunity to do Kegels or breathing exercises, as your life during those first few months tends to revolve around these moments. She recalled working with one mom caring for her newborn while homeschooling her older children. She needed exercises that she could do while standing and wearing the baby, so Limoges prescribed some wall sets and lunges she could do.

Postpartum or not, Limoges said she limits treatment to a few daily exercises that a person can work into their routine without too much trouble and works with the patients to address their most urgent concerns within the context of their lives.

A mother of twins, Limoges recalled, was having issues with urgency to urinate. “But she was running into a problem because she couldn’t get the twins in a place that she could watch them and go to the bathroom at the same time.” She padded her bathtub so she could set them safely in it to pee without leaking or holding it too long.

While your body will never return exactly to what it was before pregnancy, Limoges believes that improvement is always possible with any of these physical issues.

“My goal is to get people to 90% at least,” Limoges said. “Can you get yourself to where you’re not hunting for the bathroom or worrying about wearing a pad everywhere you go or [not] leaving your house and those kinds of things? Absolutely.”

‘My Body Is Craving A Break’: This Is What It Feels Like To Be ‘Touched Out’

Posted on 08/07/2023 by Boris Clair

As a breastfeeding mother of three, Krystal Duhaney is no stranger to the sensation of being “touched out”. She describes it as “reaching the point where you just want a little breathing room from constant physical contact”.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love cuddling and snuggling with my little ones, but there are moments when I feel like I’ve had enough,” Duhaney, a registered nurse, lactation consultant and founder of MilkyMama, told HuffPost.

“Imagine having tiny hands tugging at your clothes, clinging to your legs, lifting up your shirt, and constantly wanting to be held. It can be overwhelming, especially when you add breastfeeding into the mix. Sometimes, all you want is a moment of personal space to recharge and gather your thoughts.”

This phenomenon is most often reported by mothers, but any parent or caregiver can experience it. Some have described it as a skin-crawling or claustrophobic feeling. For Duhaney, being touched out can make her feel “a bit irritable and impatient”.

“It’s like my body is craving a break from the never-ending physical demands,” she said. “It doesn’t mean I love my children any less. It’s just a natural reaction to the constant touch and sensory stimulation.”

Parents may feel touched out for any number of reasons. The near-constant physical contact when taking care of young children, especially, is a big contributor – think nursing, rocking, holding, cuddling, baby-wearing, co-sleeping, etc. Personal space and alone time are in short supply when you have a baby or a toddler.

“Breastfeeding demands, especially when coupled with frequent nursing sessions, can add to the feeling of being touched out,” Duhaney said.

“Sometimes, all you want is a moment of personal space to recharge and gather your thoughts.”

– Krystal Duhaney, mother and lactation consultant

Plus, there’s the “sensory overload from the combination of physical touch, noise and other stimuli,” which can be overstimulating to moms, she added. This may be especially pronounced for mothers with ADHD or other neurodivergent parents.

The heavy mental and emotional burdens of modern parenthood – like the pursuit of trying to “do it all” – likely play a role in feeling touched out, too, experts say.

“There isn’t much space left to think about yourself when you are worrying and thinking about your child, spouse, and all the other tasks you are responsible for,” marriage and family therapist Gayane Aramyan told HuffPost.

Naturally, all of this can take a toll on your relationship with your partner, too. Aramyan said her clients who are mothers often tell her they “literally don’t want to be touched anymore at the end of the day” and “just want their own space”.

“It’s really hard to make space for the family members who are not infants to have close intimate touching when you have an infant hanging off of you all day,” psychologist Louise Packard told Motherly.

If you’re feeling touched out, here’s how to cope

“Whether it’s enjoying a cup of coffee alone, taking a quick walk, or simply locking yourself in the bathroom for a few minutes of peace, those moments of solitude can work wonders," Duhaney said. — “Whether it’s enjoying a cup of coffee alone, taking a quick walk, or simply locking yourself in the bathroom for a few minutes of peace, those moments of solitude can work wonders,” Duhaney said.

First, know that as unpleasant as this sensation can be, it is a very common experience and is in no way a reflection of your parenting abilities or the love you have for your family.

Mums often feel guilty for being touched out, but they shouldn’t: Bodily autonomy is a “normal human need,” psychologist Jessica Combs Rohr wrote in a blog post for Psychology Today.

“A fun thing about motherhood is you almost always feel like you are being a bad mother if you have a normal human reaction to difficult experiences,” she wrote in the story.

When you’ve reached your touch limit, communicate that to your family. Explain that you love them, but you need some time or space for yourself right now.

When you’re not so overwhelmed, have an honest conversation with your partner about what you’re feeling. That will help them understand what you’re dealing with and realise it isn’t personal.

“Set some boundaries and ask for support,” Duhaney said. “Your partner, family or friends can help share the load and give you some breathing room.”

Try to schedule some “me” time every day — even if a few minutes is all you can manage.

“It can be as small as 10 minutes before everybody else waking up,” Aramyan said. “Or taking 10 minutes during your child’s nap to not do anything but sit and read, or meditate. It’s important to fill our cup not just with girls’ nights or date nights or exercise, but to have something that happens daily for us to get something done for ourselves.”

Duhaney said it’s also important to give yourself permission to take breaks without feeling guilty about it.

“It’s OK to step away and recharge. Find moments throughout the day to steal some personal space,” she said. “Whether it’s enjoying a cup of coffee alone, taking a quick walk, or simply locking yourself in the bathroom for a few minutes of peace, those moments of solitude can work wonders.”

Connecting with other parents who understand firsthand what you’re going through can also help.

“Find online communities or local mom groups where you can share your experiences, vent, and get advice from moms who’ve been there,” Duhaney said. “Sometimes just knowing you’re not alone in feeling touched out can bring a sense of relief and validation.”

If your partner is the one feeling touched out, here’s how you can help

If you’re the partner of a touched-out mum, be supportive and understanding. Respect her boundaries, which may mean putting your desire for physical affection on the back burner temporarily.

“Show empathy and understanding by acknowledging her feelings and validating her experiences,” Duhaney said. “Let her know that you’re there for her and ready to help in any way you can.”

Make sure you’re pulling your weight when it comes to caregiving and other household responsibilities. See where you can do more to lighten her load.

“Offer to take over some tasks, such as feeding, diaper changes or bedtime routines, to give her a break,” Duhaney said. “By sharing the load, you’ll provide her with the opportunity to recharge and have some much-needed personal space.”

“Pay attention to signs of her feeling overwhelmed and step in to assist before she reaches her breaking point.”

– Duhaney

Be proactive about stepping up without always needing prompting or reminders from your partner.

“Anticipate her needs and offer help without waiting to be asked. Pay attention to signs of her feeling overwhelmed and step in to assist before she reaches her breaking point,” Duhaney said. “Proactively taking care of household chores or offering a listening ear can go a long way in easing her burden and making her feel supported.”

For the time being, sex may feel like yet another thing she has to do for someone else — but there are many other ways to foster intimacy. Maybe that’s getting a date night on the calendar once a month, setting aside 15 minutes at night to talk about stuff other than kids or household logistics, holding hands while watching TV or giving her a foot rub after a long day.

Encourage your partner to prioritize time for herself and help her make it happen.

“Support her in taking time for herself, whether it’s a relaxing bath, a solo outing, or pursuing a hobby she enjoys,” Duhaney said. “Offer to take care of the kids during those times, so she can fully focus on rejuvenating herself.”

After Years Of Infertility, I Got Pregnant At 46. I Had No Idea That Would Be The Easiest Part.

Posted on 28/05/2023 by Boris Clair

I turned 51 this year, and one of the many things I’ve learned over the course of five decades on this planet is that our dreams rarely manifest exactly as we envisioned them. We can spend years and years longing for something and then, when it finally arrives, we either don’t realise it or we’re disappointed because it doesn’t look quite the way we expected it to.

I never dreamed that a “normal” family was in the cards for me. It was something that happened to other people. People who were better at finding themselves in the right places at the right times. People who weren’t so guarded with their hearts. People who were unbroken. But a part of me yearned for it. I remember thinking that a loving family must feel like the safest place in the world.

I’d been told, my entire adult life, by a battery of soft-spoken doctors and specialists, that I would never conceive a child naturally. While there were times when I considered alternative avenues to motherhood, ultimately I felt content in my child-free life. I was a dog mom and an auntie, and I relished those roles. I was also a mountain girl: adventuring into the alpine each weekend in my Jeep or on foot to leap into remote crystalline lakes. I loved my adventurous single gal existence and my freedom. I had plans to travel, continue building my creative business so I could work from anywhere, and collect stories that I would one day, just maybe, compile into a book.

One month after my 46th birthday, I missed a period. Though I’d been casually dating someone, I assumed, considering my history, that this was menopause rearing its head at last. A couple more weeks passed and I started to have some other symptoms that were unusual for me. I figured these were further indications that my hormones were changing. But — maybe on a whim, maybe at the urging of my best friend, maybe in a burst of intuition — I bought a pregnancy test at my local drugstore and went into the bathroom at the adjacent Whole Foods to take it.

I sat there in the stall staring in disbelief at a very crisp, clear blue line in the little window on the test stick. Surely this was an error — yet another artefact of my hormones gone awry. I immediately consulted Dr. Google and learned there is a kind of ovarian cyst that can release hormones that mimic the signs of pregnancy. That was it. I was certain I had one of those cysts. I just needed to get the confirmation from my doctor.

That confirmation wouldn’t come. What would arrive was a phone call from a jovial nurse, the announcement that my HCG levels were so high it was in fact possible I was pregnant with twins, and a referral for an ultrasound that would reveal what was now undeniable: I was pregnant. PREGNANT. Impossibly. At 46. With a man who was certain about few things in life save for the fact that he didn’t want to be a father.

The author and her partner, unwitting parents at midlife, in 2023.

He was a performing circus artist — an aerial acrobat seven years my junior. We’d dated briefly several years prior and had at this point been rekindled for a few months. Our connection was mostly physical and it was far from serious. On our first date, I texted my best friend, “I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life with him, but he sure is cute.” He told me on many occasions that he didn’t want to have kids, and I thought I couldn’t conceive, so we were well-matched, in that regard at least.

Now I had to bestow on him a piece of news that could forever alter the course of his life. I remember driving to his apartment the evening I planned to tell him, half in a daze, almost numb with uncertainty. We had already made plans for that particular night — get pho and hang out at his place listening to podcasts — so I remember him opening the door with a smile, then ducking back inside to grab his coat. I recall that, as usual, he was warm when he hugged me, warm and strong. And he seemed happy to see me. My heart was leaden in my chest as I asked him if we could sit down for a minute before we left. As soon as we did, I began to cry. He put his hand on my knee and looked at me in a way that said, “Hey, whatever it is, I’m here.” You have no idea, I thought.

I managed to utter the words, and he managed to receive them, setting in motion a period that was both miraculous and fraught. I felt stunned, terrified, sad, thrilled, hopeful and humbled all at once. He felt disempowered, grieving for a future he’d envisioned that might not come to fruition in the ways he’d hoped. I think back on that time as both a whirring blur and a slow-motion free-fall.

We attended therapy together, spent hours and hours talking about all the possible scenarios. He promised he’d be there for me no matter what I decided to do, but he also begged me not to have our baby. I came close so many times to assuring him that I wouldn’t, but I always, inexplicably, stopped short. I wondered: If I chose to have an abortion, would I have regrets? And would that experience, and those regrets, leave me forever heartbroken? I also thought about how I’d be in my mid-60s when this child graduated high school, and about the end of those solo summer days high in the mountains, the travels, and the book.

While I’ve always vehemently supported a woman’s right to determine what she does with her own body — and while I was very clear about the choice in front of me — the gravity of that choice, now that it was mine to make, was almost too much to bear. I felt crushed under the weight of making it for the both of us. For the three of us. Crushed and paralysed. In my state, in-clinic abortion is legal into the second trimester, and other options are available until a foetus is viable. I would need every single minute, hour, day, week and month I could get to process my own conflicting emotions, to be counselled, to get clear with myself, to gain some level of certainty that I was making a decision that was truly right for me, that was pure of heart, that was mine.

Ultimately, my choice was to meet my child.

When I finally knew what I was going to do, and when I eventually began telling my friends and family about the decision I’d made, what stood out to them was the unlikeliness of my story. I got pregnant naturally at midlife, after decades of infertility. Their faces lit up with the news that perennially single me would now, along with my soon-to-arrive babe and his inadvertent father, have a family. Congratulatory texts arrived from people I hadn’t spoken to in years, cards came in the mail, packages appeared containing hand-knitted baby blankets and wise, loving notes. People used words like “miracle,” “wonder,” “blessing,” “full circle.” And so much of that was true. It was a wonder. My son was a tiny miracle.

But the journey of the midlife mother is rarely so black and white. No matter which road leads us to motherhood, we each end up in a place where we have to reconcile the woman we spent half our lifetimes becoming with the mother we’ll spend the rest of our lives being. Even after my son was born, big and healthy after an uneventful pregnancy, I found that my identity was still firmly rooted in the soil — for lack of a better word — of childlessness. I still felt like the woman at the party who couldn’t relate to the moms in the corner swapping milestones, like the auntie whose nieces confide in her things they’d never tell their moms, like the single gal sneaking peeks at the handsome dad in the grocery store wearing his baby, wondering about the partner waiting at home, and if it would ever be me.

I still felt like her because I still was her. But I was a mom now, too. This clumsy dance of identities is one of the more profound grapplings of later-in-life motherhood: straddling adjacent chapters, one just beginning, the other not yet closed, attempting in real time to bridge the two. It’s disorienting to lose access to things we’ve always known. But we also get the thrill and delight of peeking into new places in our hearts that we didn’t know were there before and of discovering new pieces of ourselves in the process.

Four years later, I’m a mother and partner, fully immersed in a family of my own. It doesn’t look like the family I imagined. My son’s father and I stumbled from non-exclusive dating into sudden partnership and parenting in a matter of months. Our road to becoming parents together, and eventually a family, has been a winding one, but we are a family nonetheless. We rallied to bring our child into an environment of love and laughter and kindness and mutual respect. Along the way we had to get to know ourselves, each other, and a new vision for what the rest of our lives would look like. We are still growing and fumbling and learning every day but we are among the most devoted parents you’ll ever meet.

And now, I find myself planning different travels, collecting different stories, working on a different book.

One recent weekend, my partner packed me up and sent me off to my cabin in the country on my own so I could write, refresh and connect with the land where I grew up. While I was there, a neighbour invited me to pick apples from her tree. I picked a huge bag full and then brought them back to the city, to my boys, and made a lovely apple tart. It was an offering of thanks for these two magical souls who have become my accidental dream come true.

Natasha Dworkin is an agency founder, strategic storyteller, and midlife mama. For more than 20 years, she has helped her purpose-driven clients tell their stories, amplify their impact, and change the world. She now leverages her professional expertise with her personal experience becoming a first-time mom at the age of 46, to help other midlife women make transformative change in their own lives and communities. Connect with her through her website, natasha-dworkin.com, on Substack at natashadworkin.substack.com, and on Instagram at @midlife.mama.

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