MEETING AND LOVING YOUR INNER CHILD.

The pain of the little girl hiding behind the backstop, tears wetting her cheeks, is longstanding and tangible. It was a safe spot to become invisible, back leaned against the peeling green paint, arms clutching bent knees, with silent prayers being offered that no boys run by until the bell rings. That intermittent desire of invisibility is one I continue to carry. Then, I didn’t understand why the girls I thought to be my friends were consistently banishing me. Maybe I was bossy, maybe it was basic mean girl business. I’ll never know.

Those early years of feeling unwanted and inadequate, left scars and with each additional wound, a meticulously crafted, complex line of defense slowly took shape.

I starved myself, so as to be too thin for rejection. I got straight A’s, so as to be too smart for rejection. I played sports, so as to be too athletic for rejection. I experimented with my style, so as to be too hip for rejection. I got tattoos, so as to be too cool for rejection. I finely tuned a sarcastic sense of humor, because maybe I’d be too witty for rejection. Perfect girls aren’t accessible and therefore can’t be hurt. Of course, as a child and teenager, the why’s to my Type A behavior weren’t evident. They just fit into my attempts at being a “good girl.” Inside I certainly didn’t feel like a good girl or a perfect girl. I felt alone, weak, without self-control, overly emotional, and unlikeable. These experiences with abandonment didn’t end in childhood. Whether the continuation of this theme over the years was in response to the defenses I honed or a consistent nudge to do the work, I can’t be sure, but it’s persisted into adulthood.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve more adeptly curated my inaccessibility (without much consciousness of the deeper intention)- cool house, cool clothes, clean everything, controlled eating, rigid exerciser, fearless DIYer, self-help guru, avid reader and constant sharer of helpful information. Oh, the safety of being needed. And avoidance of intimate friendships, can’t leave that off the list. If intimacy is developing, by all means judge them out of your damn life.

I pushed through struggles, inviting unnecessary challenges in, like only a martyr can do, the ultimate “good girl.” Each accomplishment served to construct a higher, less reachable pedestal to stand upon. The further I rose, the safer I imagined I’d be, insulated from the judgment of “normal” girls.

But none of those things were effective. Maybe some people were impressed with how ragged I was running myself, but my inner child logic was flawed, immature, and on auto pilot. And, if I had to guess, most people likely just saw me for what I was- an insecure overachiever.

Not until my early 30’s did I begin to have awareness that this crazy person was not driven by an innate “go-getter” temperament. The lack of self-love behind the standards I’d set for myself slowly became transparent.

But, there was another tool I’d picked up along the way and it was more of a problem than all others in totality: judgment.

You were safe from my judgment until I felt the slightest tinge of yours. The moment someone burst the delicate bubble of my feigned perfection and I knew my gig was up, I used judgment to restore myself. Talking mad shit reconstructed walls of protection.

But, there are inherent problems with this method. I only feel better during the moments of verbal validation from others when I shit talk, and then I’m hurled back into shame, cut open from top to bottom, my insides pouring out. I feel more empty and more alone each time I gossip.

I’ll be 45 in a few weeks and I’m still excavating and navigating, wading through years of pain and insecurity. My personal standards continue to be too high and judgment is my most frequently summoned method of leveling the playing field. I’m utterly terrified of female friendships. I have only two close friends I actually trust my beyond fragile heart with. They’re overachievers too, but for totally different reasons.

There are narratives we tell ourselves to justify our neuroses and we slowly begin to believe them. I have a carefully curated list that is incredibly logical and, conveniently, cannot be argued with:

I’m an introvert, so socializing is taxing.

I’m a hairstylist, I talk to women all day, every day. I have no bandwidth for more in my down time.

It’s difficult to find people who know how to reciprocate friendship versus acting like emotional vampires.

I have a specific set of interests that not many share.

I don’t like small talk and a lot of people are uncomfortable with depth.

I can’t hold my liquor.

I can’t stay up late.

I don’t have time.

I prefer to be with my family.

Even as I type these, I’m nodding my head, thinking yep, yep, yep. When we’re dealing with our inner child and shadow, it’s hard to know which parts are bullshit and which are real. We can’t be truly authentic until we’ve worked through these blocks to wholeness. All of what I said above may be true, but which am I abusing as excuses to avoid intimacy and thus, vulnerability?

No one is immune to inner child work. Judgment and gossip are absolute highlighters of unfinished business. If you’re relaying information with pure compassion, that’s not gossip, but if you can feel the slightest bit of judgment, there’s shadow work to do.

Growing up, I, like many others of my generation, had parents who grinned and bared it. There wasn’t much discussion of their emotions or personal struggles. They were there for me but were never taught to be there for themselves. The same could be said of their folks. This is a relatively new phenomenon- self care, boundaries, etc. The experts and pioneers of this movement are, of course, millennials.

Given my parents’ ingrained “shove it under the rug and keep moving” upbringings, I naturally absorbed much of that as a child. They absolutely never told me I needed to be perfect or a martyr to be lovable. Instead, they showed me through their own behavior towards themselves, just as we do with our children. Fuck.

Certainly, our words as parents count, but it’s our actions that solidify the intent and prove the reality of what comes out of our mouths.

I took the nod from my parents as a wee one, that pushing myself beyond reason and dogged self-sacrifice must indeed be the path to lovability and acceptance. My lack of psychological training at the tender age of five made this completely logical.

It should come as no surprise that my judgment is almost exclusively targeted towards indulgence of any kind, something I’ve chosen to never afford myself in the hopes that my shameful inner child will remain hidden beneath overachievement.

A solid decade into my first awareness of the issue, five year old Angi is still busy calling the shots around these parts. This is hard business. It’s not a “knowing is half that battle” situation. Knowing is 1% of the battle and the rest is literally rebuilding your neural pathways to shift a life-long narrative.

Being a working mom to three kids, coupled with a global pandemic, has massively stacked the deck in my inner child’s favor. I can be completely antisocial without anyone calling bullshit on my insecurities. I’ve avoided all of my triggers. No close friends, no pain.

I work with six women who do not share this impediment. A salon girls’ trip was planned and I immediately started sweating. I’d spent years ruminating on my lack of trust with women, content with the notion that inner work was happening and trying really hard to believe my aforementioned list of excuses to spending extracurricular time with them. I’d kept enough personal distance from my coworkers to adequately isolate myself into the “mom zone,” where almost zero expectations are in place. Most of them are younger and childless, so it’s easy to remain on the fringe.

Sean is aware of my neuroses and desperately wants me to have joyful friendships in my life. He suggested I just let go on the trip… and have a lot to drink.

Over the years, I’ve become more socially anxious. I’m constantly terrified I’m going to say something that will leave someone feeling judged, and I’ve lost trust in my ability to control my mouth. I find myself checking out in groups. I can handle all of this when working because I’m in a position of authority. My clients don’t know any versions of me beyond the one I present. I’m safely buried inside that facade, invisible. I share my weaknesses, but on my turf and of my own volition, ultimately making me appear stronger than I feel.

One of my coworkers is newer to our crew. They are very self-aware and have done much work surrounding self-acceptance and unconditional acceptance of others. They are non-binary and this radical level of acceptance has become even more important while traversing gender constructs. But, all of the self-love, boundaries, personal forgiveness, etc, coming from their station has presented a huge threat to lil’ inner child Angi. Good girls are martyrs. We don’t indulge ourselves in that shit. We suck it up and keep moving.

Up until this girls’ trip, my inner child had managed to suppress the reality of this threat. When ruminating on it, I had equal parts curiosity and judgment. I could feel that my bullshit was at work but hadn’t made space for enough introspection to get clarity. It didn’t feel like it was about me. I felt like it was about millennials. Our shadows are sneaky little assholes with disguises aplenty.

As I sat awkwardly in the hot tub with all of these women professing their love and admiration for each other, while weeping, Sean’s suggestion of getting hammered started to sound like the best plan of action. This level of vulnerability was well beyond my comfort zone. I’m sure it’s no accident that the Universe dropped me in with this crew of emoters.

Vodka was had, then had again. Alleged piggy back rides were given around the house and who the fuck even knows what else. It was fun… until it wasn’t.

My memory is very hazy but I do remember the phrases “emotionally indulgent” and “get a real problem” coming out of my mouth, coupled with a rant about the struggles of parenting and the inability to be self-indulgent while doing so. In full shadow gloriousness, I was wearing my mommy martyrdom like a goddamned crown. I recall shaking heads from some and tears from my coworker, while asking me to stop.

Maybe it’s for the best that I’d browned out during most of it. My shadow came in and said her piece and to those around me it was about my coworker, but I know it was exclusively about me, years of childhood shame projected outward. Their vulnerability, self-love, and indulgence are things I desperately need but have denied for the entirety of my life. I was jealous. How could they be so beloved while embracing these qualities. This was like dynamite being taken to everything I’ve worked so hard for, all of the self flagellation. Eat less, clean more, make your house perfect. Bury yourself. Repeat.

If they don’t know “you,” they can’t reject “you.”

But what happens when even “you,” don’t know “you.” You’ve constructed an entire entity to place in front of your shadow, and your inner child is hiding behind it, desperate to be seen but without the proper understanding of how.

We all have.

And that’s where the work begins. That’s where I’ll be for the bulk of, if not my entire life- liberating my inner child from her irrational beliefs about what makes her lovable and owning the positive qualities she’s granted from within the shadow.

Your parents, your friends, your spouse, your children, your experiences, your traumas, they’re all perfectly placed for this growth. None of it is an accident. This is what we were put here to do- unearth all of it and learn to love the flawed personality that houses the unflawed soul and then eventually, everyone else’s too.

We’ll do that until we make our way back home. It’s our sole/soul purpose and every opportunity to commingle with it is a gift. Love is literally what life is about. We can’t manifest our deepest desires until we do battle with this stuff.

So, how to go about feeling the self-love? I’ve become a recent student of reprogramming, reparenting, and rewritinging life-long narratives, making actual changes to the brain. It’s a very tall but worthy order. A lot of this, for me, has to do with derailing society’s “good girl” requirements that I’ve agreed to. Most women could use a little assistance in that department. Here’s what I’m reading and listening to for that and inner child insight:

How to do the Work

Nicole La Pera

Unbound

Kasia Urbaniak

Existential Kink

Carolyn Elliot

Girlhood

Melissa Febos

Kelly Brogan MD

Blog

To Be Magnetic (online program)

and their

Expanded podcast

-Angi

NOT EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA- Making Peace with Indifference.

This is going to serve as an exploratory exercise and because of that I’ll keep it casual. Maybe we’ll get some answers. Maybe we won’t. But, if experience is any indicator, we’ll at least be slightly more enlightened by the end than we are now. If you know me, you’re aware (perhaps painfully) that my preferred mode of speech is articulate muddled with profanity, and since we’re meandering this path together, I’m going to write in my conversational style.

I’ve got a few people in my life who just don’t seem to like me. Do I know this for sure? Um, no. Is it possible that it’s a completely self-involved delusion? Absolutely. But, my best efforts appear to be met with indifference. Unfortunately, my fragile lil’ ego handles this poorly. We’re human. We want everyone to be a fan and part of being a person means coping with the reality that this is highly improbable. But, those feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty remain and working through them is what I’m interested in. So, let’s meander down the rabbit hole.

I’m a forgiver. Grudges are for suckers and gluttons for punishment. If you've wronged me and been able to admit it, I can move on very quickly, but this whole don’t like me and I don’t know why business, cuts deep. The mystery and the helplessness are problematic. Typically, my go to defense mechanism, to suppress the hurt, is to dig up any and every reason I can to not like them back. It’s wildly unsuccessful every time, serving only to leave me feeling even more like a chump.

Thankfully, this list is short (that I know of) and varies over time. You can’t win ‘em all.

We’ve all read The Four Agreements, it’s not about us, it’s them, right? Buttt, what if it is about me, and I’m an obtuse asshole (my biggest fear)? It’s pretty much become the name of my game to own my shit, acknowledge my shit, clean up my shit, etc., etc. I know when I speak out of turn. I know when I’ve said too much. I internally cringe at my own fuck ups on the regular and can’t immediately smooth them out every time, but I always take mental notes to do better going forward. This is the price I pay for being generous with my “authenticity.”

But, how does one clean up said shit if one can’t recognize it? And, how do we make peace with seemingly unfixable relationships? There are a few directions, that I can think of, to take this in:

1. There is no shit. They just don’t like your brand of stink. You’re great, don’t sweat it.

2. They aren’t even thinking about you.

3. You suck and you don’t know it yet.

4. They suck and can’t handle that you don’t.

5. They’re jelly of how cool you are.

6. You offended them and then you were fine but they hold grudges like an S.O.B.  

Number 1 really doesn’t require discussion. There’s nowhere to go from there. Why waste mental energy on them? If you have to live your life with this person, say a prayer and keep on.

Number 2 is a real possibility and the likely cause of most hurt feelings. Our generation is incredibly self-focused. We’ve been misinformed of the difference between self-care and selfishness and let’s be real, we kinda suck. We’re pretty busy reaching in instead of out, and putting ourselves first at all costs, in the name of safe-guarding the precious “boundaries” we’ve been taught to create. It’s how we cope with the modern world being too overwhelming for us. We may be nailing introspection, but it’s come at a cost of absolute autonomy and no sense of community. So, how to decipher between self-involvement and distaste in this climate? The hope is that we’re in tune enough with reality to register when we’re being paranoid and seeing things that aren’t there. A repetitive pattern of dismissal (or worse) from someone is a good indicator that your feelings are legitimate.

3- not much to be done about that either. If you’ve got some dick moves and zero awareness of them, you’re out of luck until you grow. It’s not your problem to solve until you can actually see it. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look… introspection is never a bad thing, amiright?

Number 4 and 5 are bedfellows. If you’ve got a few admirable attributes that highlight someone’s feelings of inadequacy, they may need to stifle them via judgment of you. In this case, they're the ones with blinders on. This is tricky to concretely identify and painful to reconcile because you’re the one left holding a pile of shit in your hand, feeling like a fuck up and for no good reason, which works out well for them and their subconscious need to supersede you. And, still not much to be done about this either. Cue ugly cry face emoji.

So far, Don Miguel is cleaning house with his second agreement (never take anything personally).

Number 6- I mean what can you do? If they’re going the distance with the anger, which honestly takes me back to 4 and 5 (prob jelly), still their problem. 

So, worst case scenario, IMO, is that you don’t know you’re acting like an ass. That’s embarrassing... but ignorance is bliss and when you know better, you do better. Maya Angelou, thank you for that one. It’s granted grace many a time and I will ride that shit into the sunset, always and forever.

Based upon our very serious and academic research above, ultimately, the responsibility does not lie with the person who has dug deep enough internally, tried to remedy in the best ways they know how, and been conscientious of all parties feelings. If you know you’re operating with integrity (and if you aren’t, deep down, you know that too because it feels kinda murky), then it’s not your battle to fight. You’ve plowed the whole field and there’s nothing left to do until new crops grow.

Typically, I extricate myself from these relationships because it borders on self-abuse to maintain them. We don’t ever need to feel like shit about ourselves unless absolutely necessary for momentary growth. But, sometimes you can’t bail- it’s coworkers, neighbors, school moms, family, church mates, blah blah blah. This is where the real problem lies (this is where my problem lies as well) because you’re going to feel crappy every time you see this person or their social media posts or hear about them. Basically, any reminder that they exist in the world while disliking you, is going to hurt.

So, what do we do with this hurt? How do we make it work for us if we can’t escape from it? This is the part where I furiously search for the silver lining, ‘cus damnit, it’s always there, and it’s the only thing we actually have any control over. Maybe this awareness, painful as it may be, keeps us on our toes, strengthens our cognizance of how we traverse our worlds. If I’m sensitive about how others interpret me because I’m in the throes of self-doubt, then perhaps I lead with more tenderness and empathy in other relationships. I’ve had friends who were too well-loved (it’s real folks), placed upon pedestals, that were very scary to fall from. This lends itself to an inability to admit your own flaws and a fear of being truly honest with others, lest they dislike you. 

This heart has weathered some storms. It can take a beating. I can be real with people and while my forthcomingness has certainly hurt others, more often than not, it’s cradled their ability to be authentic with me and themselves, while owning and voicing uncomfortable truths and emotions. If given the choice, I’m always going to risk a little pain in exchange for something real. The good news is that we improve over time. Every last one of us. The more I’ve flexed that muscle, the more broken hearts I’ve caused and ultimately sustained, the more adept I’ve become at knowing when a mind is ready for honesty and how to tread lightly enough for it to be well received.

Are we on to something or bullshitting ourselves? Not sure, but most of life is composed of the bullshit we tell ourselves anyway, so I’m going with it. It brings peace where there was angst, and gives new meaning to the saying, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Hold that pain close to your heart and use it to grow because if you aren’t growing, what are you doing?

Angi

WHY I DECIDED TO GET A HYSTERECTOMY.

Prepare for a long read, folks. I don’t want to omit any details in case anyone needs this particular information. Two weeks ago today, I got a hysterectomy. I want to share my experience because in my search to prepare myself, I found few personal accounts to draw comfort or information from. I’ve done a lot of research over the last few years leading up to this. I was hell bent on trying to naturally treat my symptoms and have learned much about the female body and cycle in the process. I was able to lessen the severity of my suffering via several alternative methods but ultimately it wasn’t enough. I’ll address my theory as to why later on.

First off, a little personal background on my own biology. I’m 43, have three kids ranging from 5-11, and I’ve had heavy periods since I began menstruating at the age of 12. My best description of heavy for me would be the need to wear an overnight pad and a super tampon at once. The technical definition is filling a pad or tampon within an hour.

Fast forward to last year. I began to have inexplicable digestive issues. I’ve always been a healthy eater and never overweight. I eat my veggies and avoid foods that have proven problematic for me (dairy, soy, caffeine, nuts, eggs). My sensitivities tend to show up on my skin, via eczema (which I cured through the removal of dairy), mild psoriasis on my scalp (which I cured via the removal of eggs and nuts), and acne (which I cured via the removal of soy and caffeine). Some of you may check out at this point because changing your diet isn’t fun. Unfortunately, natural healing doesn’t involve many quick fixes. I have a mental image of my inflamed body that leaves me disturbed enough to maintain willpower on this front, and I typically feel really good when I make the right choices. I try hard not to have all of my fulfillment come in the form of food. Having said that, I’m not a total party pooper and love me the occasional good pizza or burger. Back to the digestive issues. I started having severe stomach pain if I ate more than one meal and one snack per day. My solution was to fast until 1:00, eat lunch and then have a snack at 4:00. If I ate too much or things just didn’t sit right, I was up all night with what felt like trapped gas. I’d wake in the morning in the same state and that would last until I ate lunch. I stopped being able to have bowel movements without a laxative. Using laxatives consistently is unnerving. They can wreak havoc on your stomach and cause a dependency. Given this, I limited my laxative use to twice per week, in the form of Smooth Move Tea, which meant I was only pooping 2x per week. I could tell that my BM’s were shaped weird, flat on one side. To me, this indicated that something was pressing on my rectum. 

My periods became heavier with frequent clots larger than the size of quarters (this is the threshold for abnormal). The clots were consistent every time I used the restroom and often in-between. The heavy clotting began three years prior to the indigestion. My research at the time led to “estrogen dominance.” This is a very common phenomenon that most women (and a lot of men) are experiencing, even menopausal women. High estrogen is caused by excess weight, crummy diet, and smoking. In addition, there are estrogens all over our environments- pesticides, hormones in meat, beauty products, cleaning products, plastics, soy, and our drinking water. Water has residual hormones from all the women who use hormonal birth control or hormone replacement therapy. When they urinate and flush, that water gets processed back into drinking water and the filtration process does not remove hormones. Gross. Estrogen dominance doesn’t necessarily mean that you have too much estrogen. It can also indicate that your estrogen and progesterone are out of balance. Estrogen and progesterone have an inverse relationship when imbalanced. When one is high, the other is low, and vice versa. There are multiple ways that our estrogens can result in that imbalance. You can have low estrogen and still be estrogen dominant because of lower progesterone levels (as is the case for many post-menopausal women). Excess estrogens feed all of our uterine abnormalities- clotting, fibroids, endometriosis, adenomyosis, polyps, cysts, heavy periods, painful periods, etc.

There’s another really important cause of excess estrogen and low progesterone, and it’s something a lot of us experience all the time, especially during this pandemic! Stress. The adrenal glands not only create cortisol (the stress hormone) but also progesterone. When under stress, the body foregoes progesterone production in favor of cortisol production, so even if your estrogen levels were alright, the lowered progesterone will create estrogen dominance, because remember, it’s all about that balance! Note- this will disappoint many of you, but if you aren’t sleeping well and you’re a coffee drinker, you’re likely creating too much cortisol and thus estrogen dominance. Try decaf or discontinue coffee for one week per month. Caffeine builds up in our systems over time. Give it a minute to work its way out. Telltale caffeine issue- waking during the night and not being able to fall back asleep. It doesn’t matter if it’s one cup at 6 A.M. If you’re having sleep woes, listen to your body and be kind to it. Krill oil supplements can help with PMS and painful periods, in addition to restful sleep. Taking krill and magnesium together before bed can do wonders for a good night’s rest, estrogen dominance or not.

Signs of estrogen dominance are: 

Heavy, painful periods

Clotting

Bloating

Weight Gain

Fatigue

Hair Loss

Night Sweats

Anxiety

Brain Fog

Irritability

Decreased Sex Drive

Irregular Periods

Worsening PMS Symptoms

Difficulty Sleeping

Mood Swings

Whoa, right? Note, these are symptoms of many things, so don’t assume, see a doctor (holistic preferably), do your research, get a Dutch test, bloodwork, etc. My symptoms were heavy, painful periods, clotting, bloating, brain fog, fatigue, hair loss, decreased sex drive, and worsening PMS. Of course, being constipated causes a number of those. In addition, heavy periods can cause anemia, which I’ve struggled with since I was 12. That alone can cause fatigue, brain fog, hair loss, low blood pressure/dizziness, etc. It’s important to note that as counterintuitive as it may seem, anemia actually increases the flow of your cycle. You’d think your body would know to hang onto blood when you’re struggling with anemia, but it does the opposite. If you’re loopy, dizzy, and tired, get your iron levels checked. It’s a simple, inexpensive test any doctor can order.

When I determined that my clotting was due to estrogen dominance, I got to work trying to determine how to decrease those estrogen levels. I’d already removed all sources of environmental estrogens from my life years prior, aside from drinking water, because who’s going to invest in a whole house water filtration system that removes hormones? I did a lot of things but I’ll only list what worked. I began a supplement called DIM (dinndolylmethane). This is a compound naturally produced by the body when you digest cruciferous vegetables (think broccoli and brussel sprouts). DIM digests excess estrogens from the body. It does not take away the good estrogens or too much estrogen from your body. There are actually several types of estrogens, good and bad. DIM removes those excess, bad, environmental estrogens. With the amount of estrogens in our environments and modern diets, you’d need a hell of a lot of broccoli to do this naturally. I already ate a shit ton of broccoli on the regular and I was still passing large clots like nobody’s business. The first month I took DIM daily, by month’s end, I had zero clots in my next cycle. Impressive results. My breasts also got larger and perked up to their pre-breastfeeding state. Equally impressive. You’re already on Amazon, aren’t you? Before you start downing DIM like TicTacs with dreams of porn star boobs, let me share some must know details about it. First of all, our excess hormones and environmental hormones are excreted via our bowel movements. If you aren’t pooping daily when not on DIM, you likely already have a hormone imbalance. But when you’re turbocharged sloughing off excess estrogen, it’s imperative that you poop every day. If those feces don’t make their way out of your system in a timely fashion, you will re-uptake those hormones. Whaaaat? I know. Shitty, literally and figuratively. So, do not take DIM unless you can poo or are willing to figure out how to get things moving. Suggestions: buy a natural fiber drink supplement. I like Bellway. Drink half your body weight in water, in ounces. Example- if you weigh 100 pounds, drink 50 ounces. Add 8 ounces for each cup of coffee, tea, or workout. Add 2 tablespoons of freshly ground flax seeds (use a coffee grinder, pre-ground are often rancid- read: inflammatory/unhealthy) to smoothies or coconut yogurt. Add a probiotic to your diet, kefir, and kombucha. Have a few tablespoons of sauerkraut or kimchi with your meals. Less red meat, more veggies and leafy greens, berries, chia seeds, healthy fats, etc. If you’re already doing all of these things and you’re still constipated, you need to see someone. That was me. I’ll go into what was going on soon. At the point in time when I first tried DIM, I was not constipated. I had one negative symptom from the DIM and that was tender breasts at the time of ovulation, for one week. This was something I’d never experienced before. It concerned me enough that I discontinued DIM after that month. I was worried that while fixing one problem, I may be inadvertently creating a different one. I’m still not 100% sure what caused this. Sore breasts can be a symptom of estrogen dominance, low progesterone, and high progesterone. As soon as I went off of DIM, my clotting returned. My breasts continued to be sore during ovulation but over time that dissipated, as in over the course of several months. When taking DIM it’s also important to take Calcium D Glucarate. This will help prevent you re-uptaking the sloughed off estrogen. Don’t skip it. I’ll share my favorite brands of these at the end of this article. (And, yes, my boobs have stayed 1 cup size larger and perky, even after discontinuing DIM).

Back to a year ago, right after COVID started and our lives got turned upside down. This is when my stomach issues and constipation began. I can now look at this and recognize that stress was the likely cause of my initial onset of symptoms, stress that caused more severe estrogen dominance than I already was experiencing. It’s interesting to note that I have a number of friends whose periods became outrageous as soon as COVID began. All stress, causing those adrenal glands to make cortisol instead of our beloved progesterone. I honestly enjoyed lockdown and have felt blessed to have this time with my children, but that doesn’t mean that toggling back and forth between their different school curriculums and my various businesses wasn’t stressful. Stress can be part of a happy life too. If you’re a mom, you’re stressed. And if you aren’t, congratulations. Write a book and tell us your superpower. I’m a smartass and also estrogen dominant. Anyway, the digestion issues had me self-diagnosing. My assumption was that I was growing uterine fibroids that were pressing on my rectum, causing the trapped gas and infrequent BM’s. Sounds logical, right? I decided to finally go to the doctor and get some confirmation. At this point, I’d eliminated gluten and sugar from my diet as well. I was hungry people. And nothing was helping. I was very anemic, dizzy every time I stood up, crazy low blood pressure (90 on a good day), brain foggy, exhausted, etc. My supplements were mass quantities of iron (which, BTW, totally don’t help in the constipation department), vitamin c, b12, magnesium (hoping to help me poo and sleep), zinc, DIM, Calcium D Glucarate, vitamin d, krill oil, and laxatives. I still felt like shit. I got an ultrasound which revealed adenomyosis. This is caused by….wait for it… estrogen dominance. No to fibroids, but yes to two uterine polyps. Adenomyosis is the name for a condition where the blood cells that grow inside of your uterus (the ones that produce the blood you lose during your cycle) start growing in your actual uterine muscle. They continue to produce blood within that muscle, which pools up in there, thickening your uterine muscle and creating even more blood loss. In addition, when you have polyps or other things growing inside your uterus, it can’t contract down efficiently and you end up with more blood loss during your cycles, clotting, etc. Adenomyosis may create an enlarged uterus, but not always. Some people will have no symptoms. In my case, it was enlarged. That was coupled with a tilted uterus (which you can be born with or can happen during childbirth, it can also self correct, who knew?) and it was indeed pressing upon my rectum. Follow your intuition people, do your research, and don’t take no for an answer. I had to go to four doctors to get down to business about this stuff. Adenomyosis, unlike fibroids, endometriosis, polyps, and cysts, is not curable via lifestyle changes because the blood cells are already growing where they don’t belong. I may have been able to reduce the swelling, but let’s face it, I’d done literally everything, given up all the things. The only thing left to do would’ve been to desert my family and move to an ashram. The stress of three kids under one roof during a time that you can’t let them outside to play because the neighbors might get COVID on them, is not taking leave no matter how much I meditate or do yoga, and who wants to do any of that when you have a belly full of week old shit?

Doctor number four listened to me, heard my interventions, heard my desperation, heard my aversion to taking any birth control (this is the number one traditional treatment for all things uterine and is known to cause breast cancer- no thanks), heard that I wasn’t interested in ablation (because 50% of women ultimately need a hysterectomy after undergoing it), heard my crazy diet and symptoms, and recommended a hysterectomy ASAP. My anemia levels, despite constant supplementation, were getting lower and lower. I just couldn’t keep up with the blood loss. Severe anemia is hard on your organs. It’s a lack of oxygen to all of your body, including your brain. I was going on 30+ years of this ailment. We both decided that the time for being a naturalist had passed, and we should get that lil’ bitch of a uterus out. Of course, I was nervous, not about the surgery, but about whether or not this would fix my digestive issues. I wouldn’t know for sure until it was said and done. I was terrified that I’d be altering my body forever and it wouldn’t be worth it, scared that I would have no idea what to try next if this didn’t work.

It’s been two weeks, as of today. I had laparoscopic surgery and retained my ovaries. This means my body will still produce the necessary hormones, and I will not enter menopause from the hysterectomy. I had three very small incisions, which I already can barely see. My uterus, fallopian tubes, and cervix were removed. Recent research shows that there is a reduced instance of ovarian cancer when the fallopian tubes are also taken. Keeping the cervix is unnecessary and creates more healing because they have to sever it. My vagina was sewn shut at the top and stitched in place to prevent future prolapse, via the scar tissue the stitches will create. Sex will be the same, orgasms will be the same. I’ve had an orgasm but no sex since the surgery (can’t do that until 6 weeks post op)… the orgasm was same as it ever was- all good, friends. 

A quick description of the surgery recovery. I had it on a Thursday, no reactions to anesthesia or pain meds (oxycodone). I used oxy on days 1 and 2. It was a goddamn dream. I slept away the pain. I stayed the night and went home the next morning (highly recommend this if you have needy little ones at home, I’ve still got an intermittent co-sleeper/snuggle buddy and didn’t want to get inadvertently kicked in the stomach). I chose to discontinue all pain meds on day 3 because I was anxious to see if I could go potty without a laxative. Day 3 and 4 were uncomfortable due to being med free and there was painful pressure in my pelvic region when I walked around or sat up. On day 5, I woke and had turned a major corner. I felt like I hadn’t even had surgery and my energy levels were stellar. I didn’t need to lay down or nap and had no pain. Note that I’m a weirdo and have a high pain tolerance. I take really good care of myself, coupled with an anti inflammatory diet and a can do attitude, so no guarantee that your recovery will mimic mine. I did notice that if I was too active, bending etc, I would have light bleeding. If that happened, I’d go lay down for an hour. Fast forward to week 2- I feel great and would never know I had surgery. You can’t lift things over 10 pounds, vacuum, or workout until 6 weeks post op. I resumed all normal activities, outside of those, after day 5. I’ll go back to work, doing hair, on week 3.

Here’s my take away. Please advocate for yourself. Before you get your uterus taken out, try a lil self-love. Know that even without your uterus, you can still be estrogen dominant and have some of the aforementioned symptoms. If your ovaries are in there, you still need to aim for balanced hormones. Remove those estrogens, take the DIM, and clean up your diet. I believe that if I hadn’t had adenomyosis (which I’m convinced I was born with due to the type of bleeding I’ve had from the onset), I could’ve healed my way out of this. I did have success, via supplements and diet, with lengthening my cycle. For a moment there it was 25 days with 7 days of bleeding. I was able to push it to 28 days (like clockwork) via the use of DIM and a curcumin/ginger supplement. Ginger has been shown to reduce flow by up to 40% if taken during your period. I can attest to this. My periods went from 7-9 days to 5, with only 2 of them being crazy heavy. That was allll ginger and curcumin. Everyone has different ideas about what constitutes a heavy flow based upon their own experiences. I personally was soaking a tampon and pad combo every hour for those 2 heavy days and having accidents during the night if I didn’t get up to change my tampon and pad/use the restroom at least 5 or 6 times per night. If your flow has changed significantly, go get checked out and take ginger with DIM, even if you aren’t having a technically heavy period.

Post op success: I’ve pooped every damn day since I had that surgery! Every morning like clockwork, which is how I used to be in the good ole’ days. Zero laxatives necessary. I can eat three meals per day again with no indigestion or trapped gas sensations! I can sleep all night without stomach pain keeping me up. I had lower back pain when I used to sleep on my tum. I now know that it’s because my uterus was pressing on my back. That’s gone. My iron levels will take a few months to raise… who even knows how I’ll feel then! I’m currently not experiencing what would’ve been another Godforsaken period right now. I can leave the house without shooting pains down my thighs, feeling like my uterus is going to fall out, or having to wear all black to camouflage an accident.

Sometimes you have to know when to just do the damn thing. I’m not a quitter but the idea of another decade of this had me throwing in the towel on trying to fix it myself. Heavy periods, long periods, painful periods, irregular periods, etc, are all indicative of hormonal imbalances. Our hormones have such a huge impact on our daily moods and bodily functions. Please have the self-love to do yourself right and know when you’ve done all you can. I follow a lot of holistic M.D.’s on social media and the guilt over feeling like I’d failed kept me from seeking help sooner. I still believe in natural remedies. Try those first and then do what needs to be done if they aren’t effective enough.

Angi

Note: I have zero medical training. Please talk to your physician prior to trying any of these things.

Fave Supplements:

DIM- Pure Essence Labs Breast D. It has Calcium D Glucarate in it already.

Vitamin D

Magnesium Threonate

Krill Oil

Vitannica Iron Extra (avoid supplements with folic acid- stick with methylated folate- google MTHFR for the reason why). This iron has methylated b12 and vit c in it already. They are necessary for absorption. Note: Do not take iron with caffeine or calcium, they block it’s absorption. Do not take iron if you are not diagnosed anemic. It is dangerous to have too much iron in your system.

Ginger/Curcumin combo pill

ODE TO MY HUSBAND.

I’m a runner. For sport … and when things get emotionally messy. Fleeing the scene of arguments, wounded feelings, uncomfortable situations, and broken friendships is my default response. And, if intoxicated to the appropriate degree, during my late 20’s and early 30’s, I had a tendency to literally leave the bar (unannounced) and run. Home was about a mile and a half away and through some rather unsavory areas. Mini dress, platform sandals, and long hair flowing behind me, off I’d go, through the ghetto and to my front door, where I’d pass out soon thereafter. It was stupid and I’m lucky none of the catcalling it elicited ever resulted in more, but I probably looked maniacal enough not to mess with, sprinting around at 2 am in heels.

Why run home? I don’t know. But it sure made people uncomfortable…. so maybe that’s why. 

We’ll leave that tidbit of background nonsense for later. I’m weaving a tale here, and it’s going to be kinda messy but hopefully worth it.

So, the bar I often ran from had this bouncer, Lou. He was everything you’d expect a bouncer to be. My best guess is that he clocked in at about 350 lbs. He wore a dated black leather coat that was too long to be cool but long enough to be adequately menacing. If he wasn’t smiling, he managed to look intimidating in all the ways the bar needed him to. He checked ID’s and broke up brawls, bouncer stuff. Of course, everyone knew him. He was Lou. 

I don’t know exactly how or when my friendship with Lou was born, but I’m sure my lil drunk face had been around enough to become familiar. This place was akin to my Cheers and I’d been frequenting it for a decade, and pretty consistently post-marriage dissolution, because that’s often how one handles something like that. Anyway, sometime between sprinting and buzzed, towards night’s end, I’d make my way over to Lou. His face would light up with a smile and he’d wrap his arms around me and there I’d stay until last call. I’m tempted to say he liked me and that I wasn’t just another drunk nuisance of a girl, but maybe that was part of the job description and Lou was, if nothing else, a professional. 

I’d bury my face in his chest, blocking out that supernatural ability to hear every conversation in the bar with clarity that shows up only when you’re sufficiently wasted. Never once did Lou hit on me, say something inappropriate, or touch me where he shouldn’t. He just held me and listened to my drunken ramblings. Lou’s sanctuary temporarily absolved me of my humanness, my trespasses. I was weightless in his security. Those were rare occasions of vulnerability for me. I felt safe on every level, and maybe in that time of emotional unrest, I needed to get lost in those offerings. 

Everybody wears drunk differently. My drunk is the closest I’ll ever come to being enlightened. I can drop my immense fears and insecurities and finally see the beauty in everyone. I feel interconnected and unconditionally in love with humanity. It’s very raw and vulnerable. For Lou to grant me safety during those moments was a gift. These kinds of relationships, with no expectations, don’t come along often. Losing yourself in the safety of a man you can trust, who has no end game, that’s a unicorn folks. 

Somewhere in the midst of my rebound drinking, I met my second husband. He quickly became acutely aware of my flight risk. Containing me was a challenge, on every level. But sometimes you just know and no amount of suffering or naysaying from headstrong girls will stand in your way. 

While, unlike Lou the bouncer, romance was on Sean’s docket, over the years I’ve come to see him for what he is- my real life, all day, e’ry day unicorn. And I recognize that saying the word unicorn twice is borderline gross, but that’s how rare our connection feels to me. No one's love for me has ever been so unconditional. Of course, I piss him off left and right, because I’m opinionated, fervently impulsive, and terribly mouthy, but there has never been a time that I’ve felt so consistently safe. Not just safe like I know he isn’t leaving, because the world is full of miserable married people but safe as in I know that I can be me, I can grow, I can stagnate, I can cry or yell or act a fool, and his love won’t flinch. My entire life can be buried in his leather jacket. I can lose fears that I’ve clung to for years just because I know that he is my rock, an immovable boulder. 

As made clear in the beginning, I’m no Sean. I’m a runner. My level of trust in others, my faith that I won’t be hurt, is fragile at best. There’s nothing unconditional about me and I’m certainly not claiming any innate, boulder-esque qualities. I’m ready to jet at all times, just in case. I seek out change simply to create discomfort, which seems to be (healthy or not) how I’m most comfortable. My poor, immovable husband is on the ride of his life. And still, he loves me. Because he just knows. He knows enough for both of us. He knows I am not capable of ever knowing anything like that, and I love him so much for it. Those fleeting moments of drunken security wrapped up in the arms of Lou comprise the entirety of my life with Sean. Slowly but surely, my flight risk has dissipated. I’m learning firsthand the grace of staying put in this one thing, the freedom that solidity grants, contradictory as it may sound. It’s the only thing I don’t want to change and so many walls had to crumble for me to accept that. Only in the presence of his steadfast love could I allow them to. 

As for Lou, one night at the bar, I took off. My mom and sister were out with me, which was atypical, but it meant that running home wasn’t going to go unnoticed. Still, I tried. Too many Jack and waters. They yelled, “Get her!” Caught off guard because he was unaware of my predilection for sprinting, a very large Lou went chasing after me. I imagine it comes as no surprise that I was lighter underfoot than him, and as he crossed the busy street in hot pursuit, Lou fell. I looked back from a distance and stopped. I’d hurt a person who only ever gave me comfort. My mom and sister pulled up in the car and firmly said, “Get your ass in right now.” Defeated, I obliged. With childlike shame, I watched Lou rise from the road as we pulled away, and something changed in me. I never saw him again and I never ran home again. Little did I know this was the beginning of a shift for me, that it would be the first of many times I’d fight the urge to flee. 

Soon thereafter, Sean and I would find out that we were unexpectedly expecting Sage and my slow, emotional unraveling would begin in the presence of his unconditional acceptance. The winding path of my fears and contradictions would lead in and around him, but always with him at center, as my True North, a safe haven to land upon, where love really does conquer all. 

Thank you, Sean, for never flinching and always believing. I could never have found me without first finding you.

-Angi

YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL.

I stare out the picture window at the gentle, trickling water. Lush, emerald green pine trees closing in on it, with nothing but blue sky serenely peeking through the needles. Well groomed flower beds with fresh bark flank the perimeter of the house. It’s perfect, and I know I can’t have it. I’m crushed.

But also relieved.

Because I don’t know what I want. Or maybe, more accurately, I don’t know what I don’t want. I want it all. And yet, I still try to argue my husband into making an offer on the drive home.

The elusive “they,” which is a conglomeration of many writers and speakers, told me if I could dream it, I could do it, have it, be it. Just picture yourself living the life you desire, every day… think good thoughts… it’ll come. Caviar wishes and champagne dreams.

Woman, having it all.

I’m not sure I’ve manifested anything yet, other than a major sense of FOMO frosted with desperation and lingering discontent. Although, I did pray for big boobs all through elementary school. They don’t tell you that you need to keep praying for them to stay after pumping out and breastfeeding three kids. Now I wear training bras again.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy the current state of my life, but I’m so busy picturing what it could be, I often feel an emptiness billowing beneath the surface- trapped by my own constant state of yearning. Disenfranchised by all of the “successful” people, the books, the podcasts, chirping in my ear about what’s possible. Why shouldn’t I be able to bring in millions of dollars in passive income? Tim Ferriss… I simultaneously love and hate you. You’ve created a couple of insatiable monsters named Sean and Angi. 4 Hour Work Week my ass.

In spite of feeling at peace in a way that I never had before, I started a business 6 months ago. Why? Because of the pressure to perform, to hit big, to be impassioned, and to immerse myself into something/anything. To add to our family income so that we can do all the things. You know, travel the world while we churn out a few email responses each day to keep the bucks flowin.’ I won’t go into the human aversion to stillness. That’s another blog.

I’ve learned a lot from this business. And I’m grateful for all of it, but the problem with owning something is that it’s never enough. There’s always a next step. It’s like taking a test in college. Post exam, you’re totally relieved for a day or two and then you remember you have to study for the next one. That vague sense of relief gone as quickly as your celebratory beer. Nothing is going to grow itself. What are you willing to do to get there? How many followers are enough on Instagram? How many staged pictures of your faux life do you have to post to win a sale? How many new products do you need to come up with to be fresh enough to satisfy the second long attention span in today’s world? How many heart emojis are adequate to express appreciation of a comment? I don’t want to think about this shit. It feels incredibly trite and inauthentic. But, that’s the buy in, the trade off for the alleged American dream at the end of the tunnel.

The “Tim Ferris conundrum,” coupled with the infinite level of pressure to perform while simultaneously feeling like a failure, because it will literally never be enough, has turned me into a certifiable nut job. There’s always the next new thing to keep up with. What you’re left with is a desperate housewife who feels like she can’t control a damn thing, right down to her own kids, cuz can anyone??? After gaining weight from eating too much kale, because I’m 41 and that’s my life now, I went grain and sugar free for one month and then keto for 2 more weeks and weighed more afterwards than when I started. I've been doing an intense weight training program for 45 minutes per day, 5x per week for 6 months and there is literally no perceptible difference in my “progress pics.” F progress pics, btw. My baby stopped napping a year ago, and I haven’t been alone for more than a few minutes since. So, basically my body, my business, and my children have decided that I can’t be trusted with myself, and they’ll make the decisions for me from here on out.

I think this must be what a midlife crisis is. And, the kicker is that I don’t actually have a problem, aside from those 7 pounds, which are more of a nuisance than an actual problem. I don’t want to buy new pants people. Well, I do, but not bigger ones.

The real problem is me. My thoughts. My expectations. My lack of feeling in control. My unrealistic longing, and Tim Ferris. Goddamnit Tim.

I have a lovely home, in a lovely neighborhood, in a lovely town that people come to for vacation. My children are happy and healthy and relatively complication free. My husband and I are solid and in love. I’m healthy and strong and get to stay home with my 3 year old except for a random Saturday or two. My business could go away tomorrow, and we wouldn’t be worse for the wear. We eat organic food and take a cool trip each year. Life is fucking good.

I just need to let it be, take my paws out of everything and breathe easy. I need to let this be enough, to take respite in the adequacy, because while I’m busy upping my game, my kids are growing at lightning speed. The sun is shining outside, and I’m not basking.

We live in an age of possibility and if we can’t contain it, we’ll be destroyed by it. While we make vision boards and picture what could be, what is takes leave. The moment, the only time we own, no longer belongs to us, because we’re in a faraway place plotting and scheming about how to be “better.”

It’ll take some mental exertion with lots of checking in and personal accountability, but let’s flip the world the bird and want what we have while keeping our ambitions manageable. Save the daydreaming for the millennials. And Tim Ferriss.

-Angi

(I’m sorry for those of you who don’t know who Tim Ferriss is. He’s an amazing, brilliant, childless, 40 something year old man with more business savvy in his pinkie than the rest of us have in our whole bodies. He’s filthy rich, uber driven, and penned the book “The 4 Hour Workweek.” In spite of my constant jabs, he’s incredibly impressive, and I wouldn’t undo any insight I’ve gained from him. Everyone should read his books.)