Life in Pictures: Spring/Summer

Ian and Rebecca wedding in Asheville

Wading in lakes, going to playgrounds

Big blues

Farm Days in the Triangle

Train rides

Matt and Sam Wedding in Birmingham

My wedding date

Visiting family

Outdoor music

Baseball games

Steve and Laura wedding at Martha's Vineyard, MA

Precious ring bearer

Motherhood 2: Losing the Mind

This will be another difficult post to write, but my motivation lies in helping other women feel they are not alone.  I started my Motherhood series talking about body image, this post discusses how becoming a mother has changed my mind and mood.


I felt amazing throughout both of my pregnancies, excited and honored to be holding a little life in my belly.  I noticed during the pregnancies and the postpartum year it became much harder to focus on work, much harder to focus on anything other than babies and preparing for babies.  This still lingers in me.

After Kai was born, I had tremendous struggles with breastfeeding. We followed everything to the book and beyond, lots of help with doulas, lactation consultants, family, other breastfeeding moms, etc.  Even with this, there was a lot of tears, stress, pain, and low supply.  I think the first time I really cried was when our pediatrician told us "You need to supplement with formula."  For two weeks, Kai and I had been working on nursing sessions every two hours, each lasting 50 minutes. He was a very sleepy baby I could not keep awake nor interested.  In between the sessions, I was pumping, eating, resting, and trying to bond with my sleepy baby. I was sitting on my couch topless and in pain all day. IT WAS AWFUL. When the doctor told me that we needed to supplement our non-thriving baby, my heart sunk.  I felt like a failure, my body was failing to nourish my child.  Mother's guilt begins!



Breastfeeding became a constant battle of ounces versus the bonding experience it was intended to be.  There was constant room for self-criticism and worry, literally ALL the time.  This began to subside a bit as Kai got older and less sleepy.  We moved back to exclusive breastfeeding after a month, but going back to work/pumping put me into the numbers game again.  I've had a much better experience with Asher.  No supply problems and much healthier, but the worry still lingers in me from the trauma of Kai's early months.  And that is what I label it...trauma.  It was real.

My postpartum depression (PPD) with Kai sprung from those breastfeeding experiences.  It took me longer to bond with Kai, although I did bond well as feeding got easier.  I felt helpless, angry at myself, constant failure - very negative self-talk.  I also believe my PPD was related to hormone imbalances/effects from breastfeeding - read this article for more info.   I noticed a shift in my mood at 6 months, when feedings decreased and solid food started.  And when we began to wean Kai at 11 months, I felt wonderful and happy again.  The cloud lifted.  I didn't realize I had PPD until it was gone. (Note many women have mood swings hit when they wean, the opposite of my experience.)


With Asher, I felt wonderful for two months postpartum.  I had gone to the Apex LDS temple just two days prior to the birth, and I attribute part of this to the blessings I received there.  When month three/Christmas/winter colds and flu hit, the depression came back stronger than ever.  It was different though...my main symptom was losing my temper over little things, yelling, feeling overwhelmed.  I was having a very hard time with my toddler.  I felt immensely guilty about these over-reactions, but I also couldn't seem to control them.  This brought up lots of deep feelings of failure and un-worthiness to be a mother.  I could not meet my expectations.  I also found myself obsessing over thoughts about Asher accidentally getting injured or harmed, sometimes keeping me up at night. At my worst moments, feeling like the kids deserved a better mother than me, and I should give up trying to do a good job raising them. Note these all of these thoughts are not ever-present.  They come occasionally, but they color the rest of the day with one big negative snowball effect.

Again, I've noticed breastfeeding is linked.  When I increase feedings, I have bad days.  This time, I read more and was more proactive.  I've started going to cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), but I'm hoping to switch to DBT or MBCT for the awesome mindfulness elements.  If you have any great recommendations, let me know!  No medication, but for many women, this is part of treatment.  Except, we did do placental encapsulation (which helped to smooth my moods, but there was only enough pills for a few months. I know, I know, I officially became a hippie with this. And yes, we will do it again if we have any more kiddos).  I have just recently begun to slowly cut back Asher's feedings to see if this will help with my mood.  Aaron and I began meditating together in a 40-day challenge, and I found my mind becoming clearer (but not blessed with the patience I as hoping for). Yoga and getting outside has been great.  We also took a toddler discipline workshop through Durham County Co-op Extension and read several books to learn more communication and discipline techniques. Here are a list of Triangle resources.  All of this was helpful, but I still have some bad days.  Slowly, we are becoming whole and more healthy.

I'm not sure why all of this happened, but there have been some tremendous blessings coming from all of it.  It has provided space for me to connect with other mothers in a way I couldn't have before.  I have more understanding and empathy for those suffering with mental illness, those who lash out at others, those who act out of fear and insecurity. My depression has been labeled as mild, but it also helps me to understand people dealing with chronic and major depression.  We are all struggling with something.  I have also become extremely interested in moving my career towards helping women, with childbirth preparation, postpartum support, and breastfeeding.  (thought about counseling, nurse midwifery, doula, etc - any suggestions?)

This fear, insecurity, and uncertainty seems to underlie the mommy wars too, as described beautifully on Healthy Tipping Point (one of my fav healthy living blogs).  I admit I have uncertainty all the time if I am parenting the best way I can.  It is an easy, unconscious jump from uncertainty to become defensive about our parenting decisions, another easy jump to attacking others who choose to parent differently. I think we are really just all unsure, trying to do the best we can with what we know and what our heart tells us.



I don't understand why I was given the opportunity to be a biological mother and others are not.  Mothering intersects with very deep feelings of self-worth, connection, family, potential, judgement.  Therefore, no matter what your journey looks like (children or not, married or not, fertility or infertility, sexual orientations, working or not), some negative stuff is bound to come up.  It is tapping into the deepest parts of our soul.  Motherhood has called me to question my own ability to mother well, my own self-worth....and yet, is has also give me undeniable increased love, an undeniable desire to selflessly sacrifice, and undeniable concern for the well-being of these tiny persons I am responsible for. It is the refiner's fire. It is quite overwhelming from all sides. I am so grateful for the many family and friends who have been supportive of our family and me as an individual...this is how I've made it through, with our village.  I'm particularly grateful to the many strong women in my life who reached out to me. The evidence is there that support is the key for treating PPD.  It is just a natural desire to want to form stronger connection with women as we embark upon these many journeys in , around, or away from motherhood.

Any thoughts on motherhood? How has your journeys in, around, or away from motherhood affected your mind? 

Motherhood 1: Sacrifice of the Body

"What are some of the benefits of breastfeeding?" our childbirth educator asked the class.  A short pause.  "To get the mother's body back!"  one brazen daddy-to-be exclaimed.  Jeers, boos, and quick slap to the arm from his wife accompanied his response.  And yet, he quickly put words to our worst fears...the sacrifice of the body for the baby.  The good and the bad below:

Pre-baby-body!

During my first pregnancy, I began to learn more about the female body than I had ever known before.  It was awesome!  This body I owned could do so much more than it had previously been doing...from going to school/working to growing/feeding another human!  Wow.  I have not lost that amazement.  I see the processes of conception, pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding as beautiful and spiritual. I have seen more and more of the potential of my body during each of these. From a Christian perspective, I've also read some inspirational words about the woman's body in parallel with Jesus' body -  her body in forever changed, scarred, and sacrificed for her child(ren), just as His was.

Third trimester with Kaiboy

After my first pregnancy, it took me 13 months to loose the 15 pounds that lingered...much longer than I anticipated. My experiences with breastfeeding the first time were also extremely difficult.  We gritted our teeth through the first month and a half and made it work for over a year. I experienced postpartum depression with both boys (more to write about later).  And I experienced body image problems and feelings of insecurity I'd never had before.

3 months postpartum with Kai

Breastfeeding has been rewarding, but also a huge sacrifice.  My weight stayed on until I weaned Kai (similar with Asher).  If I exercise a great deal or diet, my milk supply goes down.  So, it's either feed my child breastmilk OR get my-body back.  In addition, I saw my postpartum depression improve markedly when I weaned.  So, feed my child OR feel better. Every time I leave baby, I have to think about pumping milk or scheduling feedings around the event.  My body does not overproduce milk (or, reframed, my body protects babies from famines), so I never have a buffer/extra.  Hence, I am always stressed about baby not having enough milk when I am away. And the list of worries goes on and on. Mother's guilt, right?

Very pregnant with Asher baby

My body is forever different after having two children.  Body image issues that have come up were unexpected.  As I mentioned, I have never really dealt with this before.  It is upsetting to see other mommies seemingly shrink back to down to a pre-baby-body in no time after a birth.  {Not to be sacreligious here...} It almost reminds me of the Virgin Mary.  Mary could become a mother and still retain her virginity.  The impossible - to have two "ideals" of womanhood.  In the case of my friends, a mother can have a baby and then look like she never did!  Again, the impossible.

My feelings have forced me to step back and look at what I consider true value. Does my own value (and all women's value) lie in how they look?  Do I find what is beautiful only that which fits into a pre-determined image of woman (thin, young, etc)?  These ideas are so deeply ingrained in me it is hard to pull them apart.  From the moments of childhood, a little girl is shown impossible, fetishized images of women - Barbies, Disney princesses, movie stars.  We are shown that the epitome of womanhood is beauty and fertility (also wrapped up in appearance).  We hear women objectified by others and openly objectify and belittle themselves. As my body changes, it takes great effort to not see this as failure.  It takes great effort to feel beautiful and desired.  It takes great effort to always be happy about this sacrifice of my body. I feel that I am tapping into something even deeper with my feelings/thoughts, but I can't quite put it into words.  Gender, sex, the body, clothing, control, just something big.

Kangaroo pouch after birth!

My body is no longer just my own, no longer about my relationship with my partner Aaron. It is now about my kids.  My body has been pushed to its limits for them countless times..stretched in pregnancy, worked in birth, pain of breastfeeding, living on no sleep and makeshift meals.  I don't have the same control over my time nor my body that I did before becoming a mother. This transition is hard, and I am working on trying to spin it in a positive light.  This beautiful essay is a start, well worth the read! 

This weekend...9 months after baby 2.  Asher  strategically placed in front of the pouch.

How have you made peace with these sacrifices?  Any wisdom?

Lightning Boy

Here he comes

My lightning bolt of joy

Bubbling and bounding down the stairs

An endless emotion, spreading

and waking up the world

to live more fully

He asks without worrying, loves without expecting

Pulling us back to his heavens

The Event that Broke Me: Part 3

Just a quick note and some thoughts.  Saturday was 10 years since Paul's passing.  I deliberated on what to do, but ultimately decided to take some time for reflection and holding to happy memories of him.  I called a dear friend from college to meet me for lunch at a bagel cafe and a long walk through NCSU campus - both places reminding me of Paul.  It was good to walk and talk with her. We both had our little babies in Ergos as we walked, Asher sleeping and sweaty.  Unexpectedly, I saw two more friends on my visit...I just call them extra angels for that day.  And two dragonflies visited this week (remember the second of these posts?)....one during deep sadness and one during the first moments at NCSU.  The first was pretty amazing...I was very emotional thinking about Paul one morning in particular.  In between my tears, I looked to my back door and saw the dragonfly light on the window pane - just stopping by to let me know he was there.

I feel your spirit 

in the quiet,

in others' love,

in the hope of your dragonflies

I miss your presence

as a friend,

as I grow old, 

as I remember

I carry you with me

when I serve,

when I am present,

when I dream

The Event that Broke Me: Part 2

In my last post, I related the loss of my first love.  This follow-up post is about some of the shake out afterwards.

After he left us, tiny miracles occurred for his beloved. Blue dragonflies began to show up in tender moments - at his funeral, at the tournaments, trips to his favorite spots, in our sad moments.  It is healing to think that Paul is somehow with us, bringing us his love and checking up on us from time to time.  Dragonflies have become some small connection to him. For these tender mercies, we are grateful.

In the months following the accident, I went home to recover.  I went to physical therapy and talk therapy.  I regained use of my right arm completely and healed physically in every way. I went back to finish school at NC Sate and to be closer to Paul's family and all the places that reminded me of him.

I slowly started dating again, and years later regained a desire to be married and have a family.  I lost my faith but it came back slowly, in a slightly different form. I lost a few friends who didn't know how to talk to me anymore and just stopped, but I also saw true friendship in many loved ones who called, wrote, visited, and prayed.  It felt like most things in my life reset completely.

I planned and helped with a memorial bench and tree at North Carolina State in Paul's name - in front of the biology building, as this was his major and his alma mater. It was a labor of love and somewhat cathartic.  His best friends used the leftover funds from the bench and began an annual, memorial golf tournament.  All of this funds a scholarship endowment for the Paul Elam McCarthy Memorial Scholarship.  The yearly scholarship goes to  a pre-dental or pre-medical student at NCSU. There is also a scholarship in his name at Boston University's Goldman School of Dental Medicine, where Paul had just completed his first year. Attending the golf tournament each year is a bittersweet experience.   He is there, in spirit, in his friends and family, in the dragonflies.

 In a few days (June 8), it will have been 10 years since Paul died.  This anniversary has brought many thoughts and feelings with it.  Honestly, I can't believe it's been 10 years.  He is forever 23, I am now 30.  The sorrow is still so deep.  Thinking of this loss has also brought back memories of the loss of our nephew, Evan.  Sweet, bouncing, beautiful Evan was almost two when he accidentally drowned.  His angel day happened  a few months after Aaron and I married, in 2008.  When I was searching for Evan's obituary, I came across this moving post by his Aunt Kiera.  She quoted a favorite book called The Prophet, and I wanted to re-post her excerpt here:

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.  And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.  And how else can it be?  The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?  And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.  When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater that sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater." But I say unto you, they are inseparable.  Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.  Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced. When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall. 

I reflected on this after reading it...I do think that joy and sorrow are interlinked.  The dual nature of the human soul and the human condition has always fascinated me.  We all have bad and good within us and around us.

My sorrow for Paul runs deep because the joy was so full and the love so great when we were together.  For me, it is too difficult to say that his death and the circumstances that surround it will allow me to have more capacity for joy in this life. Although.... I do think that this sorrow can be met with equal joy if I was to see him again in the next life, a reunion.  Perhaps this is why heaven is such a salient belief for so many.  I do not think that the accident was destiny, I think it was only an accident.

I would take his place gladly, but I cannot. Sometimes I like to think that Paul had some sort of choice. Perhaps in his final moments, God allowed him to see the series of events that would happen if he was to die and everyone else to live, or the events if I was to die and he was to live.  Perhaps he chose this path in some sort of wisdom I don't have access to.  That thought gives me some small amount of peace.



Unlike many things in life, I can not correct this mistake.  Typically, if I hurt someone, I can apologize or make some sort of restitution.  In this case, the consequence of me falling asleep was so immediate and final.  In an attempt to correct it, I prayed often and intensely to atone for Paul in some way.  That is - if his entry into heaven depended upon his deeds and character during his life - that God would also give these same good parts of my life to him as well, extra help for his afterlife. He was a beautiful soul, so I don't think he needed my help, but I wanted to give this to him regardless.  This prayer to "take what is mine, and give it to him" was my mantra for some years afterward.

Later I met Aaron and relayed these thoughts.  It was Aaron who said "...that sounds like Jesus." The analogy had never dawned on me. Aaron's moment of clarity (he has many of those) was the spark that started me down the path to joining the LDS church.  Over time I've come to believe Christ will make that atonement for Paul.  It is not my place to save, it is His.

How have you dealt with loss?  What has helped you in trials and sorrow?  

The Event that Broke Me: Part 1

For the last few years of my life, I've been through some dramatic changes.  During these changes, I've largely been receiving - meaning, receiving information/wisdom in the form of books, discussions, speeches, podcasts, etc.  With the advent of the internet, there is so much information to absorb it feels like my head might explode. (Do you ever feel like that?)  Lately I've been thinking it is time to start giving more - meaning, adding to this world of shared information.  Perhaps my voice might help someone, as so many have helped me.

In that spirit, I'm hoping to write some poignant and honest blog posts about topics that are close to my heart. I am less afraid of judgement and more concerned with connecting to my loved ones and friends in a meaningful way.  This is the first of these posts, and perhaps the hardest to write.

Paul and Angela, Thanksgiving 2002

On June 8, 2003, my best friend died.

Promptly, my life broke into two pieces - the life before that day and the life after that day. Honestly, I don't remember what I was like before he died. Probably much more naive and less serious. We all have events in our lives that break us...this is one of mine.

My best friend and former boyfriend's name was Paul McCarthy.  He was such a good man. Paul and I met at NC State in my first days there as an undergraduate.  We crossed paths a few times and finally started dating.  The spark was instant and strong.  For our first real date, we went out to see a meteor shower, and I fell asleep laying in the curve of his arm on the hood of his car. He said he fell in love that night.

Paul helped me to find a home in North Carolina, where I moved for college - far away from family and friends.  He was the heart of that home.  He taught me many wonderful things - how to be more devoted to loved ones, how to be more comfortable with myself, how wonderful the beach and Jimmy Buffett are, how to love all types of music, how to love someone deeply, how to live more fully.  Yes, we did have some ups and downs, but by and large, our two years together were wonderful.

I was moving into womanhood, 20 years old - beginning to learn the power of my body, the might of my intellect and drive, that the world was open to many possibilities.  And yet, I was only 20 - so young, inexperienced, and mostly innocent to how much life's events could hurt you. Paul was 23.

Gator Bowl, January 2003

We were driving back from my friend's house in the Outer Banks.  It had been a fun and lazy weekend.  I was behind the wheel, Paul in the passenger seat, and a friend Matt in the back seat.  The guys were sleeping as I listened to James Taylor and dreamed about the rest of summer with Paul.  The next thing  I remember is lying in a hospital bed, unable to talk.  Confusion, breathing tubes, medicines, writing my thoughts down, panic.  Where was he?  WHERE WAS HE?  If I'm here, he has to be here too, right?

But he wasn't.  I had fallen asleep while driving, the car spinning and flipping into the opposite lanes.  My memory won't let me remember it.  Paul lost his life right there on the side of the road, while I was pinned in the car.  Our friend Matt climbed out to look for help. The other driver we collided with was unhurt. Three survivors and one death. How did we become statistics? I did this. I did this...

The next few months I spent recovering.  My physical recovery was full, but unwelcome. My mental recovery is still occurring.  I can't think about Paul without going straight back to his death and how it happened, how I'm to blame, how many people are grieving from what I did.  I know this is not what he would want.  I know this is not all there is to me.  The pain is great, the loss extreme.  I miss him so.

It has been almost 10 years.  And I don't talk about it.  Most of my friends now don't know about Paul, but why and how would I bring it up?  I  decided to talk about this, as it is part of the story I need to tell.  Surreal but real.  I am a survivor.  I have survivor's guilt.  I lost my best friend and the first love of my life.