Chronic People-Pleaser

True story.  A few years ago I went to Six Flags in Dallas with Dave and my dad, just the three of us.  It was a cloudy May day and the perfect temperature for strolling around the amusement park.  As we were waiting in line for our first ride--The Texas Giant--the lightning flashed and the thunder struck.  Cue the rain delay.  We waited...and waited.  Eventually it became clear to us that the day was going to be a wash (literally) and we should probably rethink spending the day outside.  Now on the way out of the park there were several clearly visible signs that read "Absolutely No Ticket Refunds".  My dad was sure it would be no problem to have our tickets refunded since it was still early morning, we hadn't even been on a single ride and it looked like it would rain for the remainder of the day.  I pointed to the sign.  No refunds.  What didn't he understand about that?  My dad casually began to walk to to the ticket booth to claim our refund, and I headed briskly in the opposite direction.  I neither wanted to see nor hear the confrontation, if you could even call it that.  I was so nervous that the ticket booth lady (who, let's face it, was probably a teenager who could not care less) would somehow be angry/upset/displeased.  In less than a minute my dad was back by my side, refund in hand, looking at me like I was crazy.  Had I really been so afraid that a Six Flags employee would be mad at me?  Yes.  Yes I was.


My need to please everyone is so all-consuming that it really is a small miracle that I can get anything done in life.  If I tallied up the time I spent trying to please other people, I'd probably be really disappointed.  Why am I like this?  I'm sure it's a mixture of DNA and life experiences, but it's getting old.  I'm wasting time.  Now that I have a child, I see that it's really a terrible way to be.  Do I want my son to tip-toe through life, afraid of disturbing the peace, living like the whole world's happiness and contentment rests on his shoulders?  No.  So, what kind of example am I setting?


Going forward, I'm making a promise to myself to work on this glaring character flaw.  I absolutely cannot please everybody all of the time.  I cannot even please everybody some of the time.  I can try to make myself happy, and in doing so I will likely end up making those around me happy.  It makes me sick to my stomach to fathom a life of constantly apologizing for having an opinion, a want, a thought that is independently mine.  To go along with my whole "be braver and bolder" campaign, I will make an effort to stop being such a doormat.  I will no longer apologize to waiters who get my order wrong (Yes, I have done that more than once.).  I will no longer go along with things I don't want to do, simply because I am afraid someone will be upset with me.  (It's ok to say no sometimes.)  I will no longer put the world's happiness before my own.  I will, however, go out and pursue the life that I know is big and bold and beautiful.  It's perfectly okay to use "because it makes me happy" as a justification for anything.  I'm a work in progress, and so I know it's not easy to change what has become 30 years of people-pleasing habit, but I can try.  I really think you can teach an old dog new tricks.


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Today is Saturday, and I survived my first week back at work since having Ben.  It was not an easy week, for several reasons, but I made it through.  Monday will come all too quickly, I know, but I'm trying to keep my chin up.  There are some exciting things in store, and I will try to keep that in mind when my desk phone rings incessantly.  For now though, there is a super snuggly baby who deserves to have two days with the momma who loves him so much.  And, that definitely makes me happy.


Remember:  A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.  --Lao-Tzu

Benjamin's Birth Day

As I sit down to write this, I am still fascinated by it.  I am amazed at the miracle of life.  When I look at his tiny hands and feet, at the beautiful curl of his lashes, at the perfect curves of his ears, I really can see the hand of God in it all.


This is the story of Benjamin's birth.

38 weeks pregnant

I woke up at 12:30am on Monday, May 16th.  I remember my eyes popping open as I felt the familiar urge to go to the bathroom...again.  I was 2 days past my May 14th due date and was feeling pretty uncomfortable.  Feet, legs, hands swollen.  Heartburn so intense I was forced to sleep sitting up.  That morning was to be the first morning of my maternity leave.  Alone-time in the morning, pedicure in the afternoon...I had my day all planned out.  Just as I sat down to go to the bathroom...**gush**.  "Oh, crap!" I thought.  My water broke.  


Partly because I was in shock, and partly because I was too excited (and nervous) to move, I stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, just thinking.  "We're going to meet our baby soon.  It will no longer be just the two of us.  Will it be a boy or a girl?"  My mind and my heart began racing.  Dave called out to me as my absence from the bed alerted him.  He asked if I was okay.


"Yes, but..."


We called the doctor at 1:30am and were instructed to head to the hospital.  I called my mom.  I could hear the excitement in her voice as I told her I was in labor and that we were going to swing by to drop off Emma, our dog.  I showered, Dave packed and we loaded up the car.  We drove the 25 minutes to my mom's house.  I had a few mild contractions, and we tried to time them but they were fairly irregular.  7-8 minutes apart.  Not painful.  I remember thinking "If this is what labor feels like, I'm going to do awesome."  (That makes me laugh now.  I had no idea what was in store for me.)  We dropped the dog off and proceeded to the hospital, getting there at 3:00am.  We checked in and I gowned-up, and we were told the midwife would be in shortly to see if I was dilated at all.  She came in the room and seemed nice.  Up until she examined me, my contractions were getting a little stronger and more regular but were still very manageable.  After she examined me (which was so painful that my eyes watered and my toes curled) I found out I was only 1cm dilated.  It was going to be a long day.


The next few hours went by in a blur of procedure, waiting, checking, contracting.  Nurses in and out.  Breathing in and out.  Inhaling, exhaling.  Trying to find a rhythm for managing pain that was intensifying.  Inhaling, exhaling.  Dave, looking at the monitor strip which measured the contractions.  Little mountains on a strip of paper.  Jagged peaks representing my pain.


My mom came to the hospital around 7:00am, and I was in full-blown labor.  Though only dilated 3-4cm, I wasn't sure I could handle much more of the pain.  Wave after wave overtook me.  I wanted silence during the contractions, so I kept shushing Dave and my mom.  Inhale, exhale, shhhhhhh.  Repeat.  I tried walking to keep things progressing, but I only made it through one lap of the labor and delivery unit before I was begging to lie back down.  When I got back to the room, I tried bouncing on a birthing ball.  By 8:30am I was told I could have an epidural if I wanted one, and that was a no-brainer.  Yes and please and hurry.

Trying to walk through a contraction.

The epidural made me numb from the waist down, which was an unpleasant feeling.  It felt like I had two dead legs strapped to my body.  Though I could still feel the contractions, they were doable.  The pain was reduced to intense pressure.  I tried to get some rest, but the automatic blood-pressure cuff went off every 15 minutes, so sleep was hard to come by.  I talked with Dave and my mom and watched the clock.  The nurse checked me and I was told we'd have an afternoon baby.  Friends sent text messages of excitement and support.  A woman in the labor and delivery room next to mine had her baby and I heard its first cry.  It was a beautiful sound and I burst into tears.  I knew the next time I heard that sound it would be my baby in this room.  I looked at the isolette situated in the corner of the room, fitted with fresh linens, waiting for my baby.  The baby that I had grown to know from within, the baby who kicked my ribs and hiccuped and wiggled, would soon be out of my body and laying in the isolette.  How wild.


At 1:00pm my doctor came in to examine me.  I was 9cm dilated and feeling all kinds of pressure.  I knew that I wouldn't be pregnant much longer.  He told me to "hang tight" and that he was going to go perform a c-section on another patient and would be back shortly.  I was panicky.  How long would that c-section take?  What if I felt like pushing?  What if he didn't get back in time?  For the next hour, the pain found its way back to me.  I clenched Dave's hand during the contractions and tried to breathe through the pain.  He rubbed my back and kissed my forehead and whispered words of love and encouragement.  My mom was lingering in the background, present and comforting but not intrusive or overwhelming.  I was shivering from the epidural and secretly wondering if I would have enough strength left to push.  After all, I was operating on no sleep.

Dave and me, shortly before I started pushing.

The doctor came back into the room at 2:00pm and confirmed I was fully dilated and ready to start pushing.  The pushing was harder than I could have imagined.  It's much harder than anyone ever tells you.  I pushed as hard as I could, inhaled and pushed again.  Three times for each contraction.  My face hurt from the pressure of pushing and my throat felt raw.  I was told not to "push with my face" and to really bear down.  Nurses came in and out.  Instruments were opened and set aside.  A flurry of activity went on in my peripheral vision.  Dave held my left leg and a nurse held my right.  At one point the baby's heart rate dropped and so I was given oxygen and was told to turn onto my right side.  I pushed on my side for awhile.  I had breaks in between contractions and I would try to catch my breath and take sips of water.  Then I would feel the contraction building again and I knew I was about to embark on another round of pushing.  Dave kept telling me I was doing a good job and that he could see the baby's head.  It all felt very surreal.  How did I get here?  I tried to keep focusing and keep pushing.  This was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  My doctor looked at me and said "Ok, Kelly.  We should have a baby in the next few pushes."

Pushing.

I curled my body around the next contraction and pushed.  I pushed out my pain.  I pushed out my fear.  I pushed out my anticipation.  I pushed out the frustration of a year of trying to get pregnant and I pushed out the heartbreak of two lost pregnancies.  I pushed out the morning sickness and the heartburn and the swelling.  I pushed and pushed and then out he came.  I saw it was a boy.  Arms and legs flailing, lungs wailing.  I reached out and grabbed him, warm and wet and so tiny.  The most beautiful face I have ever seen.  My Benjamin,  6 pounds 13 ounces, born at 2:49pm.  We were a family.

Benjamin David Kompf

Emotion poured out of me as I sobbed and thanked everyone in the room for helping to make me a mommy.  I watched as Dave held our son for the first time.  I watched as my mom became a grandma.  My life was transformed.


I have thought about that day everyday since, and it's still so magical to me.  I feel so privileged that I got to experience childbirth, and there is no feeling on this earth like looking at your child's face for the first time.  I am excited to watch him grow from a baby into a little boy, and I will cherish every moment along the way.


I am so blessed to be Benjamin's mommy.  

Mommy and Benjamin meet.

On Fear and Bravery

A dear friend once gave me a blank notebook, and printed on the cover was the phrase "Do one thing each day that scares you."  Great advice.  I never wrote in the notebook.  As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure where that notebook is although I'm certain it's in my house somewhere.  

I've been thinking about that phrase a lot lately.  I have not always been bold with my choices.  I fancy myself a rather conservative person.  I am liberal with my views of the world and those around me, but when it comes to steering my own ship, I maintain a very narrow course and I tend not to make waves.  I sail in calm waters.  I am queen of the comfort zone.  Whenever I see people who dare to take risks in life, who are brave enough to try new things, I get this kernel of discomfort inside.  It grows and grows until eventually it sprouts into full blown jealousy.  Why can't I be braver, bolder?  What makes those people so fearless?  It hit me the other day as Dave and I were talking about doing something we've always wanted to do, but until now have been too afraid to consider.  Everyone is afraid and insecure.  There are no fearless people.  To be truly brave is to acknowledge your fear, and then move past it.  Don't let fear hold you back from anything you want to do in life.  

There have been times I have dared to try things that were scary to me.  But like dipping your toes into a freezing pool, I quickly recoiled the instant things got a little uncomfortable.  That's okay though.  Life is a process.  I now know that once you make it through the uncomfortable beginning of something, there is great joy to be found.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Life is too short to miss out on great joy.

Now when I look at people who seem braver than I am, I will try to remind myself that we're all the same.  We all have fears, and whether the fear is great or small we all have to make the decision to move past it and leave it behind, or let it loom in front of us like a big cement wall.

So here's to being brave and bold and daring.  Here's to trying new things.  Here's to letting ourselves be vulnerable to that uncomfortable feeling, because we know the payoff will be worth it.  Here's to adventure.  

Here's to life.

For Starters...

My name is Kelly and I am 30 years old.  I have been married to Dave, a wonderful man, for almost 4 years, and together we have a 2 month old son named Benjamin.  We have a house and a sweet yellow lab named Emma, and we live in a quaint suburb just south of the city of Buffalo, NY.  I love my life.

I have been on maternity leave for 11 weeks and I have 1 more week left until--out of necessity--I will return to my job processing auto accident claims.  These last 11 weeks have been wonderful, and not just because I haven't had to go to work.  

I have had the opportunity to get to know my baby.  He is quite demanding.  He wants what he wants when he wants it.  Sometimes we call him "the little terrorist" because his demands can seem unreasonable.  I am learning what he likes (being held) and what he doesn't like (being put down).  I have gotten through the painful beginning stages of breastfeeding, and I am learning to cope with the fact that Ben now prefers the bottle to me.  I am trying not to take it personally, though it's hard.  I have built up my arm muscles lugging his car seat in and out of my car.  He is generally a good baby as long as he is not hungry.  He does not like riding in the car, but he loves being outside.  Thankfully, he's been sleeping through the night for the last 3 weeks.  I have never loved anyone as much as I love that 10 pound tiny man, and nothing has been more challenging than learning how to be a good mommy. 

 I have had the opportunity to enjoy Buffalo in the summer without having to cram all my activities in between the hours of 5pm and 9pm.  I have taken walks, I have visited friends, I have run errands during the day.  I have watched The Today Show and A Baby Story and House Hunters.  I have read books and planned meals.  I have spent more hours on Facebook than I should have.  I have showered late in the day.  I can count on one hand the times I've put on makeup this summer and I have given my can of hairspray a well deserved hiatus.  (Ahh, the perks of not having to go to work everyday.)

Maternity leave has given me the opportunity to think about what it is that I'd like to do with myself.  I did not grow up thinking that I wanted to process auto accident claims for a living.  No, that was not on my dream-radar.  I wanted to be an author, an actress, a chef, a wedding dress designer, a doctor, a nurse, a midwife, a teacher, a dentist, a bookstore owner and a coffee shop owner.  Not all at once.  Or maybe all at once.  Who knows?  Somewhere along the way I realized that I could not feasibly be all of those things.  I wish I would have picked at least one of those things to focus on, but I did not.  I gracefully bowed out of the game.  I closed the door on my dreams and plunked myself smack-dab in the middle of job mediocrity.  Someday I will figure things out, and I will reopen that door.  Not all of my dreams are buried.


I try to remind myself that there are no rules for how I should live my life.  I try to not feel guilty for every little thing, but that's hard for me to do.  (I wear guilt so easily, it practically oozes from my pores.)  As I begin this new decade in my life, I am ready to free myself from that guilt.  I am ready to embrace change.  I am learning how to be braver and bolder.  I think my 30's are going to be exciting, and they hold all the possibilities that I can dream of.  


Stay tuned.