MiTHology (4.0)

The fundamental difference between pro-life & pro-choice

February 9th, 2025

The other day, I saw an excellent little video from one of my favorite pro-life content creators (“secularprolife” on IG: although I’m not “secular” myself, and don’t agree with every word she says, I love how she proves that abortion is wrong not just from a religious POV, but for everyone, even if you don’t believe in God at all). In this video, she pointed out something very helpful to consider, for anyone who wishes to engage in meaningful debate about this topic: namely, pro-life people believe that abortion ends a life, whereas pro-choice people tend to believe that abortion prevents a life from beginning at all.

I’m not here to delve into all of the reasons why it’s idiotic to believe that a baby in utero is not already alive (why would you need to abort it if it wasn’t alive?!). A quick biology lesson, or googling even the most rudimentary, basic info on the science of human reproduction, will fill you in on that, if you’re interested.

No, I am actually here to point out something else that I believe is a fundamental difference between the pro-life and pro-choice philosophies. Possibly an even more fundamental one than the one just named, because there are plenty of pro-choicers who are fully aware that abortion ends a life, but they simply don’t think it matters (or matters enough).

And that is because of this fundamental difference: pro-life folks believe that life is good, and pro-choice folks do not. To be more precise, the pro-life belief is that life is an objectively good and worthwhile thing, always, whereas pro-choice folks believe that life is only good under certain conditions.

A pro-choicer might say that, if a child is going to be born seriously ill or disabled, it is better off not living. Or if a child is going to be born to a very young mom, or a very old mom, or a mom who is poor, or a mom who is herself sick or disabled, then that child is better off not living. Or if the parents aren’t ready to be parents. Or if the child simply isn’t enthusiastically wanted by both parents. They claim that a child is better off being killed than being born into a life of any kind of sadness or hardship.

It is actually really very sad, when you think about it, to believe that life is only good in certain circumstances. Even if you don’t believe in God and His goodness, surely it’s evident merely from observing life, that life is an objective good. Why else would all living things strive to remain alive, to reproduce and create more life? I think it takes some real bizarre mental gymnastics to believe that life is not a good thing. It’s like finding some reason to believe that 1 + 1 does not equal 2.

But, I guess not too many people believe in any objective truth anymore. In a society where all belief systems are supposed to be seen as equally good (except, ironically, the one that teaches that objective good exists), nothing is really true anymore, is it.

I used to be an atheist, and I remember the moment when I began to finally see the flaw in this belief system. I was a junior in college, taking an upper-level philosophy course (because I guess I wanted to get as deeply and hopelessly into debt as I possibly could, lol) called Meta-Ethics. Early in the semester, our professor was asking us to think about what moral values actually are. Do they exist in the world, and if so what actually are they, and how can we identify them? I thought for a while, and took a look at my own idea of moral values: obviously they existed, because some things, like murder, were objectively wrong; but how did I know, really? Because it just felt wrong? I guess I had some vague concept of like an internal sensor that people must be equipped with; but to detect what? And if that were the case, why did people’s moralities differ so drastically? This philosophy, I began to realize, with a slight chill, did not hold water. (A couple years later I began converting to Catholicism.)

In our modern world, everyone has their own truth. Which, btw, brings me to one of my pet peeves: the phrase “my truth.” As in, “speak your truth” or “I’m telling you my truth.” There is no such thing as “your” truth! There is only the truth. What you’re referring to is your experience, your feelings, your side of the story – what you, an imperfect and non-omniscient creature, believe to be true. All of which are valid and important, sure, but they’re not necessarily any kind of truth. Let’s stop saying “my truth” and start saying “my side of the story.” Ugh, every time I hear the phrase “my truth” I throw up a little in my mouth. But anyway, that was a tangent.

People don’t believe in objective truth, nor do they believe in objective good. (Do we believe in objective beauty? I’m not sure if we do or not, that’s a different blog post.) Things are only “good” for a specific individual if that’s what that individual believes is good for them.

Which is a super dangerous way to think about goodness. An underweight anorexic person might believe it is “good” for them to not eat today, or that they need to lose more weight; are we going to honor their beliefs and respect their personal values, or are we going to do what’s actually good for them and encourage them to seek help, because they are simply wrong? An alcoholic really believes it’s for the best if they get drunk (even if they fully acknowledge that it’s damaging their health, to them, the apparent “good” that is pleasure and relief outweighs the health risk); should we tolerate diversity of opinion here? Or would the more loving response be to intervene, to let them know that they are wrong?

And if you admit that objective good exists in these situations, then you must follow that to its logical conclusion: so objective good does exist.

Health, for example, is good. But why?

Because, life is good.

So yeah, subjective morality is a very slippery slope. Pro-choicers do not believe that life is a good thing, and that is deeply sad.

I think you will generally find that people who are pro-choice tend to be less happy than people who are pro-life. And by “happy” I mean not “college educated, wealthy, healthy, successful” but rather “convinced that their life has an actual meaning and value regardless of their circumstances.”

Realizing that most pro-choicers are really sad, helps perhaps to see them in a more compassionate light. For example, some individuals I know who are pro-choice were never taught about the value of their own body or the tragedies of sexual immorality, and had to learn about sex in public school or from TV or their peers – either that, or they had morality violently shoved down their throats at a young age, and their “liberated” philosophy is a retaliation against that violence. Some of them are SA victims who are still healing from trauma. And a lot of it is just exposure to our depraved culture; we’ve “normalized” way too much, and to be “not normal” is a terrible social sin. So people will try to be normal so that they’ll be seen as valid and worthy. It’s all really very sad.

I wouldn’t call myself a “happy person.” I’ve always been gloomy, pessimistic, melancholic, negative, prone to bad moods and discontentment and periods of depression, and, as you know, I have diagnosed AvPD, which is chronic, and hardly a picnic in the park. But, in the grander sense of the word, I am deeply happy, because I know that there is hope of salvation.

At some point, subjective morality becomes impossible to live with, if you really look it in the face. If there is no objective meaning to anything, and life is not objectively good, then, sure, absolutely, abortion is as good as anything else! Why not get an abortion! Why not kill anyone! When you arrive at that point, in all seriousness, suicide is the only option. It’s pretty much necessary. I am not trying to be dramatic, this is a simple fact. What pleasure you can milk out of life is just that, just a blip, just a few moments of sensory pleasure in an expanse of suffering, with an eternity of blackness stretching out on either side of it, if you don’t believe that pleasure means anything more than just pleasure. We are not built to live with the knowledge that life is that meaningless. So, what’s more likely, that this universe is all some kind of random, material, evolutionary accident, or that we are built this way because there actually is a greater meaning we’re supposed to find?

But, ahem, that’s just my take, and I’m not here to try to prove the existence of God, lolol. I got way off track there! My point is, objective good exists, and life, more than anything else on earth, is absolutely objectively good. It’s kind of a no brainer, tbh. But I guess not for everyone, sadly.
Has anyone else noticed this about pop music?

February 8th, 2025

I wonder if anyone else has noticed this trend in pop music. Specifically, the upbeat, danceable kind of pop – I’m not talking about pop ballads, which have always been and will always be a thing. Since I noticed this, I can’t stop thinking about it, and pondering what it might mean.

I write this not as any kind of critic or expert, or even that big of a fan. I’m just some random person who’s been alive in America for 30-some years, sometimes listening to the radio. It would be interesting to see if anyone who is actually knowledgeable about pop culture over the last few decades had anything to say about this, or if they could disprove my theory.

Here it is: I’ve noticed that, over the last ten, fifteen years or so, pop song lyrics have become, in general, much more, shall we say, cocky. Overconfident, conceited, full of this spirit of “it’s all about me, I don’t need anyone.” “I’m so hot, everyone wants me, but they’re all just playthings to me.” A lot of talk about getting money and nice things. You see it in both male and female pop singers.

Yes, obviously Madonna did “Material Girl” in the ‘80s, and BSB did “We’ve Got It Goin’ On” (which, while playfully boastful, isn’t even quite the brand of cockiness that I’m talking about) in the ‘90s; but I feel like these examples were just occasions, not indicative of the general voice of pop music at the time. Whereas today, you see it everywhere. “Espresso” and “Taste” by Sabrina Carpenter, “thank u, next” and “7 Rings” by Ariana Grande, “FRIENDS” by Anne-Marie and Marshmello, “I’m The One” by Justin Bieber, “Strip That Down” by Liam Payne (may he rest in peace), just to name a few that come to mind. Even Taylor Swift, over the course of fifteen years or so, went from “Love Story” and “You Belong With Me” to “Out Of Style” and “Ready For It” (which is, actually, my favorite of her songs/videos).

I’m comparing these kinds of contemporary songs to the ones that were hugely popular when I was a kid, in the true Golden Age of pop. Yes, I know, everyone says pop music peaked in their youth, but in the case of my generation, who were kids in the late 90s, that is actually true. Britney’s “…Baby One More Time” and “Oops I Did It Again,” Spice Girls’ “Say You’ll Be There” and “Wannabe,” BSB’s “Millenium” and “I Want It That Way,” NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” and “It’s Gonna Be Me,” even your less well-remembered pop hits like “Candy” by Mandy Moore and “Another Dumb Blonde” by Hoku – all of these had an emotional, sincere, vulnerable, well-meaning tone to their lyrics.

Yes, they were sexual, and by no means “that innocent” (lol), but, they tended to talk about relationships with an individual, desiring one individual, or trying to express something important to someone, or to express sadness about a failed relationship.

And yes, sure, you still see these kinds of lyrics today – but not in the flashy, hot pop songs. You tend to see them in the more subdued, soft-rock flavored brand of pop (like Maroon 5 or Teddy Swims or Ed Sheeran), not the fun, danceable ones. Vulnerability and sincerity seem to have lost their sex appeal. It’s like having a conscience is lame now. Caring has become cringe.

I wonder why this is.

Part of me wonders if it is the influence of rap and hip-hop. Mainstream rap and pop are merging, in a lot of ways. You see a lot more crossover these days than you ever did in my youth: rap stars featured on pop tracks is really normal nowadays. (The same thing is happening with country and rap right now, interestingly – look at this Morgan Wallen guy, featured on that new song by Moneybagg Yo. I actually am very much here for this flavor of crossover; in my neck of the woods, there’s a huge market for it, and I’ve been waiting for it for a long time.) Rap lyrics do tend to have this cockiness that I’m talking about: “I’m the best, everyone wants me, I’m so good at what I do, I get so much money,” etc. Now, as my loyal readers know, I am fascinated by rap and hip-hop, and am not at all belittling that genre or its themes. I just think it’s interesting to see how rap culture has become more and more influential on pop culture.

Or, is it caused by something else? Is it just that this younger generation loves irony more? Is it just that they are more sad, more jaded, more scarred by early exposure to the toxins of social media and modern life? They are growing up too fast (ever seen those “13 year olds today vs. me at 13” memes?). It seems like this generation has seen too much, too soon, and doesn’t have time or energy for feelings. Judging from their internet humor, they’re the generation who collectively wishes they’d never been born, and is filled with dread about their future, and copes via irony and brainrot; so, I guess this kind of jaded music speaks to them in a way that the sugary, enthusiastic lyrics of early Britney or BSB would not.

Maybe this is the crotchety old lady in me, but, I feel like this younger generation is also more self-centered in general. Not in bad way, necessarily: it’s just that these kids have grown up chronically online, and were isolated during their formative years thanks to COVID; not to mention the explosion of the “self care” movement, and the related pop psych trend of adult children going no-contact with their families of origin as a way to “set boundaries” and “protect their own mental health.” These kids have it easy, in a way; they never had to pick up their family telephone to call their friend on their friend’s family phone, and endure the mortifying ordeal of asking their friend’s mother if so-and-so was around! Much less approaching a person of interest irl and asking them out! Nope, nowadays you can just text “wyd.” These kids are lonely, jaded, and simultaneously too soft and too hard for their age. At risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, I really think all of this has contributed this “all about me, fuck everyone else” attitude that we see in their pop music.

When did this become a thing? Like I said, it’s not completely new, but as far as I can tell only very recently seems to be the norm. I wonder if the turning point wasn’t in the late ‘00s, when Lady Gaga rose to power. She was obviously really innovative, as a pop star. Her lyrics weren’t quite “2020s cocky” yet, but she definitely had this brazen, IDGAF, galvanized, “queen bitch who won’t slow down for no man” kind of quality, that vanity and self-celebration that’s fueled by a deep sadness. Because that’s what it really is, I think: this attitude is the fruit of emotional trauma, of a deep sadness. Sia, who’s probably my favorite pop singer ever, addresses this sadness head-on in her lyrics more than anyone else I’ve heard on mainstream radio. The Weeknd does it, too.

But anyway, Lady Gaga – I remember when “Just Dance” came out, it was a huge deal. It spoke to so many of us kids at that time: “I’m sad, I don’t want to think about my problems, I just want to get wasted and hook up with strangers to numb my pain.” And then, “Poker Face” and “Bad Romance:” both songs about, not being in love, not caring about the other person, but about a manipulative but sexy “situationship,” about people using each other. The lyrics acknowledge how sad this is, while also glamorizing it: the message is, basically, “fuck it, I can’t afford to care anymore.” Lady Gaga was saying these things out loud, in a fun and catchy way, and made it cool. I think it’s generally true that people who really love and idolize her are deeply sad people.

Sadness has really become much more mainstream, these days. When I was a kid, it was weird to be in therapy or on antidepressants. Today, all the cool kids are depressed and on meds and in therapy, or self-diagnosing with all kinds of mental illnesses; it’s actually weird not to be mentally ill now. Which is itself a glaring symptom of a broken culture, IMO, but that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms and a way bigger problem than pop music.

But, this mental illness trend probably underlies the tonal shift in pop music. So I think it’s all of these things – the convergence with rap culture, the jadedness and sadness and self-centeredness of the younger generation – which fuel what I’ve come to think of as 2020’s cockiness in pop music.

None of this is meant in any way as a jab at pop artists or at today’s youth. I remember when I was younger, I hated listening to older people bitch about millennials; I hated that they’d assume something to be true of me just because of what was popular among other people my age, none of whom I even really related to. It wasn’t until I was older, and began to have some more perspective, that I identified strongly as a millennial, and could begin to see what was funny and sad and cool about millennials at large.

Anyway – what I mean is, I’m not trying to say that every individual born after the year 2000 is selfish and immature; nor am I trying to say that music has gotten worse.* I respect Sabrina, Ariana, Taylor, and all the rest; I think they’re talented and cute and good at what they do. I’m just idly observing what I see as an interesting, and perhaps telling, trend.

*That being said, though, early ‘90s pop will always be superior to all other eras, as previously stated.
Is NFP birth control, and is its use ever justified?

February 6th, 2025

Please keep in mind that I’m not an expert of any kind! I’m literally just some random layperson who overthinks everything!

Revised April 2025

Is NFP birth control? I’ve already touched on this question in another post, but am feeling a need to delve into it more specifically.

You’ll see a lot of folks, especially the more modern-leaning, Christopher West-informed Catholics, who believe that using NFP to avoid counts as being open to life. It’s perfectly fine to avoid pregnancy for serious reasons, they say, as long as you use NFP. Because that way you’re still having sex the appropriate way (i.e. no birth control or “pull-out” or anything like that).

But are you really being open to life?

Some of the “rad trad” types believe that controlling your fertility at all — that trying to avoid (TTA) ever — is always wrong. Because approaching sex in such a way that you are trying to avoid conception, is, in fact, having a contraceptive mindset. It is corrupting the true purpose of marriage, not to mention, it shows a lack of faith in God.

Is NFP birth control? As far as I can see, yes, it definitely is.

Because it seems pretty obvious that you’re not being “open to life” if you’re intentionally avoiding using fertile days. To say that TTA using NFP constitutes being open to life, is literally the same as saying that using condoms or any other birth control method is “being open to life,” because these methods are also never 100% guaranteed!

In fact, NFP instructors trying to sell their method will boast of its effectiveness: “more effective than birth control when done correctly!” And this is true. Personally, if I were really seriously TTA for some extreme, life or death reason, I’d absolutely prefer to use NFP rather than contraceptives, because it’s more reliable! It is more effective! If you use a condom on a fertile day and it breaks, you’re at risk, vs., if you simply avoid the days when there is any possibility of conceiving, you literally cannot get pregnant. People really struggle to understand that, that biology works that way. People tend to think that, because ejaculation occurs inside of a vagina, there is always a chance of pregnancy. (This stupid misinformation is drilled into our heads in public school health class, as well as by most healthcare providers.) But, literally, that is only the case 5 or 6 days out of the month. NFP is extremely reliable when done correctly.

But that’s the catch: correctly.

You hear that NFP babies are super common, and that scares some avoiders off of NFP. People will always say “oh but I got pregnant using NFP” or “my sister got pregnant twice using NFP” – well, that is because you were doing it wrong. You either made a mistake somewhere, or you are not being honest with yourself about how thorough you were. No shame in this. I’ve been there. Doing NFP correctly is hard. It is a cross to bear. People mess it up either because they don’t have the patience to track accurately, or they don’t have the willpower to abstain during fertile days. Or, they are not being entirely honest with themselves (I like to think I’m pretty honest with myself, but, the temptation to be like “oh, surely this isn’t really a fertile day” is real, sometimes). NFP is also highly unnatural. Everything about it is contrary to a healthy, happy marriage. That’s why it’s so easy to mess up.

People who claim to be “open to life” while using NFP probably say that because what they mean is, if a slip-up were to happen, they would still keep that baby no matter what. But, if they’re really working hard to prevent slip-ups… I don’t know if they can properly call themselves “open to life,” at least not to the extent that someone who does not practice NFP is open.

What level of openness are we required to practice? Are we required to be radically open? Or are we allowed to plan, but required to accept God’s “veto” of our plans, if He chooses to do that? I’m honestly not sure about this one, which is why I’m writing this post.

All of that being a tangent to say that NFP is extremely effective, so much so that I think it actually is birth control.

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NFP is birth control. That much is pretty plain. But, on to part two of this post. Is use of NFP ever justified? Some say yes, it’s absolutely fine. Others say no, never.

“Grave reasons” or “serious reasons” is typically what you hear. If you have a “grave” or “serious” reason to avoid, then use NFP. But, IMO, the instructions from Rome are really, really vague regarding what a grave or serious reason actually is. They allude to financial or health reasons (although some other sources say financial reasons are actually not valid), but, they don’t really elaborate. I guess, to be fair, it would be hard to do that, since each family is so unique. I will do my best to thoroughly consider potential financial and health-related reasons below.

Financial reasons

In a perfect world, all married couples would be able to freely trust God with their fertility. But let’s be real. Life in this part of the world today is simply not what it was pre-industrial revolution. Lifestyle, for most people, is very different than it was two hundred years ago. We don’t live in synch with nature like we used to (and many of us simply don’t have that option). We have things like student debt, cars, car payments, mortgages, credit scores. The whole health care and insurance situation is fucked. Self-sufficiency is not the norm, it’s a luxury for those who can afford land and livestock. Living by today’s standards (with electricity and running water and climate control) costs a lot. It would probably be different if you lived like the Amish, but in our world, for most of us, it seems pretty unrealistic, and even unwise, to throw caution completely to the winds w/r/t conceiving children.

And society expects us to provide certain things for our kids, beyond just education, food, and shelter. We are also expected to provide them with material comfort, security, opportunities, and enrichment. People will go so far as to accuse you of child abuse if you cannot afford such things as family vacations, a college savings fund, or one whole bedroom per child.

Is there any weight to these accusations? Is it actually unethical to have kids if they’re going to have to share a bedroom, or never go on vacation, or have to work a job to save for college?

Personally, I’m a minimalist about these kinds of things. Vacations, to me, are fun but unnecessary. I don’t really feel I need a lot, materially – I did not grow up financially comfortable by any means, but my childhood was happy and not lacking. I always think it is so bizarre and alien when someone feels a college savings account is a life or death necessity. Yes, it would be awfully nice to have, sure – but, is my life worthless because I have student debt? Would I be better off never having been born? I don’t think any good Catholic will agree with that take!

Perhaps it’s not fair to generalize from my own experience. Just because I don’t require nice things, doesn’t mean all kids don’t… or don’t they? Does anyone really require those kinds of things?

Our modern society thinks life is meaningless if it’s not comfortable. That you’re better off dead if you don’t have nice things, if you have to struggle. A pretty twisted and sick mindset, IMO.

So, in general, I personally really don’t think finances are a pressing enough reason to avoid having a baby. In general.

But, when it comes to finances: I think there actually is a really pressing reason why use of NFP might be not only justified, but necessary. And that is: debt. If the parents have debts that they’re truly unable to pay, that’s a serious problem. Not debts that they are making timely payments on— I think it’s totally fine to go ahead and be open to life, if you’re able to manage your debts responsibly — but if you’re drowning in debt and have no way to start paying those debts off, then probably don’t have another kid.

It’s pretty simple, after all, isn’t it? We have an ethical duty to pay our debts. It is a sin not to do that. Having children in this day and age, unfortunately, costs a lot of money: you have to pay the hospital or midwife, you have to pay the pediatrician, and you have to feed them and educate them, all of which cost money if you’re doing it right. Intentionally having another child when you know full well that it would make you unable to pay your debts, might even be a sin — right? (Even if those debts are stupid; because it should not cost this much to have a kid, or to get basic health care: unfortunately, those are the circumstances that we’re in, and stamping our feet and wishful thinking will not change that.)

And we know that in Catholic moral philosophy, the ends do not justify the means. Even such a very good end as having a child does not justify the means of committing a sin. We’re looking for “grave reasons” to avoid here, and nothing is more grave than sin, right? Not financial insecurity, not even physical health. I’d have to check with a priest about this, but this seems to make sense to me.

Living in hardship is not an ethical failing. Your kids sharing a bedroom is not an ethical failing. Not being able to afford vacations, horseback riding lessons, a college savings plan — none of those are reasons not to have kids, IMO. But failing to pay debts is a sin, and sin is a pressing matter. (Now, if someone conceived on accident, and it was an honest mistake, that’s a different story, and the life of that child is obviously more important than any financial debt. I’m talking about intentionally conceiving, or being irresponsible and allowing it to happen when you know you ought not to.)

Health reasons

And so but what about health reasons? Are those serious? Obviously, if someone has life-or-death physical health reasons, such as cancer treatments or whatever, that is a good time to TTA using NFP. I think that goes without saying. Yes, there are cases of healthy babies being born in such situations, but it’s risky, and I think we have a responsibility to protect our own health.

Or, if a mom has a c-section for one baby, and wants to allow her body the recommended eighteen months-two years to heal so that she can plan for a natural birth for subsequent pregnancies (because, after all, if she can have natural births, her body will be better able to handle many pregnancies and births!) — isn’t that a valid reason? Or, should that mom just accept that, if she has another baby in the near future, she’s going to be a c-section mom forever?

What about if pregnancy is really hard on a mom, physically? Maybe she has hyperemesis gravidarum, or some other nasty symptom that makes pregnancy really hard on her, and takes away from her ability to care for her existing children or accomplish her daily tasks. Is she still required to keep being open?

I know that, personally, I used to feel like NFP was never, ever justifiable. Now, being pregnant with my fourth at 35, while I have a 5, 3, and 2 year old to take care of, as well as a house, and my nausea and fatigue have been harder this time around — I really begin to see why some feel the need to TTA. I was basically incapacitated for three months, and my kids suffered because of it. I don’t have a “village” around me to really help out, so it’s all on me. I admit, for months, my kids watched TV literally morning to night, ate no home-cooked meals, only processed snacks, and only had a bath every three or four days, while the house around us went to absolute shit and we had to wade through clutter everywhere we went. I did what I could, but I had no help. Pregnancy sickness is real.

Should I keep on doing this again and again, forcing my kids to miss out on months of their life? Does the good of having another sibling outweigh the bad of that lost time? Which responsibility is more pressing, my responsibility to take care of my kids and home (beyond just the bare basics, that is), or my responsibility to trust God and “be fruitful and multiply”? I really, honestly don’t know.

It’s hard.

Which brings me to mental health reasons. What about mental health? God made people with different personalities, different energy levels, different capacities for expending vs. conserving energy. Someone who is an introvert and requires a certain amount of quiet and “conservation” time, simply would not thrive with more than five or six kids!

Or, could they? Wouldn’t God grant them the grace to make it work, if they trusted Him? After all, kids get older and more self-sufficient. Not that they don’t still require attention, but, as they grow up it does get easier on Mom, strictly physically speaking. She will have more opportunities for “me time” when her kids grow up, no matter how many of them she has, right? It’s just a brief period of her life, when her kids are little; shouldn’t she sacrifice her peace, for the good of bringing kids into the world? Maybe some would say yes. After all, worldly happiness isn’t everything, right?

Personally, I’m a slow-moving type of person who requires a lot of time with my own thoughts. I can’t just rush around accomplishing tasks all the time nonstop. If you’re not of this personality type, you might just say I’m “lazy,” but that’s not it, because I’m actually pretty disciplined and productive. I simply need to plan for periods of time during the day when I can sit still and read or write or whatever, like I’m doing right now. My mental health suffers if I never get to pause. My mood suffers, and I become unpleasant and eventually snap. Is this a valid reason to stop having kids? I honestly don’t know. If I were holier and more saintly, I guess I wouldn’t require “me time.” But, I’m not that advanced.

Or what about those women who suffer from debilitating postpartum depression? Or, God forbid, postpartum psychosis? For some women this is incredibly real and even dangerous. I can’t see how God would be offended if such a mom avoided or at least postponed pregnancy — right?

Or maybe there are family reasons. Maybe one spouse wants to keep having kids, but the other doesn’t. We can’t just disregard the feelings of our spouse, even if we think they are wrong. Sometimes, in marriage, we have to sacrifice our vision of the picture-perfect, most morally-unimpeachable family life, to accommodate our spouse’s feelings (because it’s not really a perfect or ethical family life if you disregard your spouse’s feelings, is it).

Maybe some couples are more spiritually advanced to the point where they truly aren’t bothered by any worldly concerns at all. They don’t care if they don’t have free time; they get all the mental health support they need from the Sacraments. They are basically saints already. That’s awesome! God has been generous to them, and they should absolutely return that generosity by having lots of kids.

But, not everyone is that spiritually advanced. Some of us are just doing our best. We shouldn’t pretend to be further along than we are. We have to accept and be at peace with the degree of sanctity that God has permitted us to reach. If we simply don’t have the emotional/spiritual/mental capacity to be good parents to lots and lots of kids, then, isn’t it prudent and responsible to avoid having more of them?

I’m inclined to think that yes, in such cases, it is actually good and necessary to TTA. I’m not sure about this, but it seems to make the most sense to me.

I am sure of at least one thing: no couple who has the privilege of financial abundance, freedom from debt, great physical and mental health, and a “village” around them to make family life easier, should ever look down their nose at NFP users who are doing their earnest best. You are in that position because you are lucky. (True, maybe you worked hard to get to this point, but, Who gave you the grace to be able to work that hard? Nothing that we have comes from us, after all. We’re not all built the same, and you truly don’t know what it’s like inside someone else’s head, or to have their life.) Being lucky and blessed does not make you morally superior to anyone else.

.

So, as you can see, I’m still conflicted, but I do believe that there are sometimes pressing reasons to use NFP. Even though it’s birth control and not “open to life,” NFP is definitely superior to other methods of birth control, because, like I said earlier, it doesn’t corrupt the sexual act itself in any way. You’re not mutilating your body or messing with your hormones or placing a barrier between you and your spouse. It still sucks (it really sucks), but, you can see why the Church does OK its usage in certain scenarios.

But I’m definitely open to having my mind changed on this (believe me, I’d love to have more kids!), so if you have a strong argument to the contrary, please, send it my way!
Mith’s one issue with the movie “The Whale”

February 3rd, 2025

Warning: this post contains what I’d consider “spoilers” for the plot of the movie The Whale (2022). If you haven’t seen the movie already, definitely go watch it ASAP, then come back and read this if you want.

I’m late, I know. I’m always slow to see new movies. Even before I had children, I pretty much only ever went to a movie theater if someone else invited me. The last time I set foot in a movie theater was a rare occasion in September of 2022, when my husband and I went to see Nope for our birthday (we have the same birthday, four years apart, and we’re both big fans of Key & Peele, and loved Get Out, so we were pretty stoked about Nope; IMO the chimpanzee scenes were better than the alien ones, and creepy as heck).

But so anyway, true to form, I only just watched Darren Aronofsky’s highly-acclaimed film adaptation of the play The Whale a couple of nights ago, even though it’s apparently been out since 2022?!

What finally inspired me to watch it was: well, for one, my husband recently decided to delete Netflix because they keep hiking their ridiculous prices up (guess we’ll have to temporarily resubscribe in the fall for GBBO), so, since we canceled our subscription but still had the service for a few days, and we didn’t have a show to watch that night, we decided to just scroll Netflix like “well, let’s see if we can get anything out of this while we still have it.”

And, for two, I love Brendan Fraser as much as any other millennial, and had read that this movie was like his big comeback after Hollywood did him dirty and tried to ruin him. And, for three, as we were scrolling Netflix and I saw that they had this Brendan Fraser movie that I’d read a bit about, I noticed in the description that it was directed by Darren Aronofsky, of whom I’ve been a huge fan since I first saw Pi in like 2009 or ‘10 (it was shown to my class one day during an elective I was taking called “Magic, Science, and Religion”). Black Swan was huge for me, as I’m sure it was for anyone with an ED. In fact, that was one movie that I did go out to the theater alone to see (one day when I was desperately trying to find some reason to get the hell out of my house because it was a really bad ED day, so it was perfect). So already when I saw that name I was sold.

But also, for four, I saw that, obviously, the movie deals with the issue of weight/fatness, which, as you know, is an endlessly fascinating topic to me. And it was about a writer – a writing professor, actually, and I have a fair bit of experience with those (believe it or not). Plus, it sounded like one of those quiet, character-driven stories that I’m such a simp for. So, seeing all of this in the Netflix description, I told my husband to hit play immediately.

What I did not realize before watching The Whale was that it takes place in northern Idaho, as do pretty much all of this playwright’s works. I haven’t read the play – I’m not huge on reading plays, tbh, and have never really enjoyed reading one – but I looked up Samuel D. Hunter, and I guess he lives in and writes pretty much exclusively about the Idaho Panhandle. Which, if you know me, you know I absolutely flipped out about, because a certain fictional character of mine also hails from the Idaho Panhandle (his hometown even got a mention in the movie!). In fact, some years ago, I was so intent on learning about this character’s backstory in this location, that I once flew out there solo (a long flight, from where I live) and spent two weeks just hanging around the town, exploring, sleeping at a motel, getting a feel for the place – which was super weird, objectively, because it’s not really a tourist town, and I was just a lone 25 year old woman who didn’t know a single (real) person in that town, and it was just seriously super weird, but super interesting for me. I was delighted to find that the place was exactly the way I’d seen it in my imagination – even more so, if that makes sense. The whole time I was there I kept looking around at the most mundane things and going “but of course!!”

So, yeah, I kind of have a weird passion for that whole area, and one thing I loved very much about The Whale is that it manages to capture a very strong sense of northern Idaho without once leaving that little apartment. In college, one of my most memorable courses was one called “Writing About Place,” and the professor (whom I idolized, and whom I’ve mentioned on this blog before) once said something along the lines of – I paraphrase roughly – every story is irrevocably tied to a place. It must always be true that that story could only happen in that place. You really feel that, about The Whale and northern Idaho.

The other thing I did not realize before watching this movie, but that pleasantly surprised me, was that it is very much about God and religion, as well as the ethics of sexuality and marriage: both favorite topics of mine. However: this brings me (finally) to the actual point of this blog post.

This movie was perfect, IMO. I could not stop watching it. My husband and I always watch something on TV at night after the kids are in bed, and always, if it’s a movie or a longer episode of TV, anything longer than like an hour, I need to pause it halfway through and go to bed, because I am old and tired and a mom of young kids. But this one, I could not pause. I stayed up stupidly late to finish it, and felt it the next day, but had no regrets. It was riveting and wildly entertaining and also brilliant, and forced me to experience Emotions, which I simultaneously love and hate. To say nothing of the obviously-stellar acting. All in all, flawless.

But actually there was, for me, just one flaw. And it’s not even so much a flaw of the movie itself, so much as perhaps a flaw in the understanding of the individual(s) who created it.

It’s in that scene right near the end, when Thomas shows back up to the apartment all excited because he believes he’s finally figured out why God brought him to Charlie’s place. Thomas explains to Charlie that he (Charlie) is suffering because he’s living according to the flesh (accurate), and that God wants him (Charlie) to turn to Him and allow Him to help him. And Charlie calmly debates him on this, and the conversation turns to Charlie’s deceased lover Alan, who died tragically, and it ends up reaching a point where Charlie asks Thomas: do you really think God turned His back on Alan because they (Alan and Charlie) were in love? And Thomas, with whom I’ve pretty much loosely/tentatively/conditionally agreed this whole time, thinks about it, and admits: Yes.

That’s the flaw!! I feel like the filmmaker was hereby trying to represent the POV of religious folks in general, and failed. Well, maybe certain sadly misguided Protestants out there think this, that God turns His back on sinners – but well-formed Christians know that’s not true. God never turns His back on us. As we see in the story of the Prodigal Son, God is a loving father, always waiting for us with open arms! In His mercy He has given us free will, so that we can choose to love Him. He could have just created us to be robots with no choice but to love Him, but that wouldn’t be meaningful, would it – it’d be dumb and sad, the same way it’d just be depressing and sad to be married to a robot you’d built yourself for the express purpose of loving you. I don’t know about you, but I want my spouse to freely choose me with his whole heart and mind, just as we are free to choose, or not choose, God. God does not turn His back on us. If we go to hell, it’s because we chose hell, and God in His mercy is honoring our free will, even though it saddens Him greatly when we turn away from Him. I’m clearly no catechist or apologist here, but I think this more or less sums up the correct, Catholic POV of God’s attitude toward sinners.

It’s unfortunate that the filmmaker(s) seem to think we Christians believe in a God who would abandon us for making mistakes. No wonder they resent us so much! I find myself wishing that Charlie had been approached by a Catholic, instead of whatever weird sect Thomas was supposed to belong to (in the play, he was actually Mormon, apparently, and was called Elder Thomas. How weird is that, a nineteen year old “Elder!”).

I feel like the creators have perhaps not been exposed to any real Christians. Which is sad, but unsurprising, considering that I’m pretty sure the SSPX presence in the Idaho panhandle is approximately zero. 😀

But, perhaps I misunderstood what they were doing here. Maybe they were not actually trying to comment on religion as a whole. Maybe Thomas only spoke for himself, and for that weird Mormonish flavor of Protestantism in which he was formed. Maybe, since this story is so firmly grounded in northern Idaho, it was only commenting on the particular brand of religion that’s widely available out there. But, somehow, I really got the impression that his character was meant as a symbol of Christianity in general. I wonder what you all think.

And to be fair, Thomas was, in spite of all that, portrayed pretty sympathetically, as a realistic, fleshed-out, sincere and smart human being, albeit somewhat naïve. You don’t often see that in anti-religion stories – usually, they’ll portray religious folks as shallow, stuck-up, two-dimensional idiots – so, I appreciated that. But they seemed to imply that he will eventually “outgrow” his religion. And I got the vibe that that’s what the writer(s) think about religion – that it’s something to be outgrown. Which is unfortunate.

However. I think, in trying to show that religion is wrong and bad, they actually managed to show us something true and beautiful about religion and God.

Because they did a great job of portraying sinners sympathetically, too. Charlie obviously epitomizes “living in sin” – I mean, he left his wife and child for “love,” which is an irrational, unreliable, and flesh-driven phenomenon, regardless of your sexual orientation – and yet, he is a smart, wise, and compassionate guy, and you really feel for him, and see where he is coming from. It could be said also that he is gluttony incarnate, but, I don’t think he can be held accountable for gluttony, because he’s clearly an addict and emotionally unwell. It’s like how someone who commits suicide when they’re very depressed cannot be held accountable for this terrible sin, due to their disrupted mental state. Although Charlie, like any addict, obviously carries some responsibility for getting himself into this position in the first place. But, you can understand why he did. You completely relate and sympathize (at least, I did).

And for that reason, this movie actually does a really good job of portraying God’s mercy. When a story causes you, the viewer/reader to see things from God’s POV, and you see the goodness and spark of divine in a character, no matter how disgusting that person’s behavior – you start to see them through the lens of God’s mercy – that is, I think, the mark of a really worthwhile story.

So perhaps they might have messed up in trying to portray religion, but, regardless, I personally think they did a really good job (whether intentionally or not) of making a movie that shows us something about God: something edifying and true and beautiful.
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Should I fast for Lent if I have a history of EDs?

January 26th, 2025

I’m not here to quote the Catechism or any authority on this, since, as far as I have been able to tell, there is no authoritative advice on this particular question – if there were, I wouldn’t be here writing this speculative little blog post, would I?

I know that those with physical health concerns are exempt from fasting, so, obviously, if you’re in early ED recovery and were underweight and are actively trying to restore weight, definitely don’t fast. But what about those of us who have been physically healthy for a while?

For those who aren’t aware (although, I’m assuming that, if you clicked on this post, you probably have some familiarity with EDs), an ED is not the type of problem that once you’re eating well again, you’re fine. It’s like an addiction in that it is very much a mental/emotional problem, and it is permanent, it stays with you your whole life, and “being in recovery” is always an ongoing, active process. You have to choose it every day. Even those who are doing really well are always at risk of relapse. Also, just because someone looks healthy on the outside does not mean they are healthy. Many, many people with terrible, life-ruining EDs might actually be normal-sized or heavy. Hope that clears up any potential misunderstandings.

Lent will be here soon, and so I am once again asking myself: what is a person in recovery from an ED supposed to do?

(I should specify here: someone with a history of ED who, like me, is not yet very advanced in the spiritual life. If you’re super advanced spiritually, to the point where worldly concerns no longer seriously bother you at all, and the ED stuff no longer has any kind of hold on your mind (except, maybe, in the form of fleeting temptation), then this whole post probably doesn’t apply to you. I’m talking about those of us who are still in what St. Teresa of Avila would call the first two to three Mansions of the soul – those of us who are still at all bothered by things of the world. St. Teresa compares these worldly concerns to rodents, snakes, and vermin that sneak in the doors of the Mansion. I feel like, for someone in these outer rooms, it’s probably not a good idea to pick up these vermin and play with them and try to befriend them — which is, basically, what fasting from food when you have a history of ED actually constitutes.)

You may think it’s a simple answer: just don’t fast from food. Find some other way to fast, such as from caffeine, alcohol, social media, online shopping, or what have you. This seems to be the prevailing opinion in online Catholic places I’ve visited.

However, I’m not sure if the great saints would agree. I’m thinking of such saints as Augustine, Basil the Great, and John Chrysostom, who stressed the importance of subjugating the flesh rather than being subject to it – referring to food and hunger, not to anything else. I can’t help but wonder if these great saints would think it’s a lazy cop-out on our behalf to say that we can’t fast because it affects our mental health adversely.

Throughout history, you see great saints who barely ate anything at all, or fasted on bread and water only, and who nevertheless were healthy and well and thrived until very old age. Look at the monks on Mt. Athos, always strictly fasting, yet some of the healthiest people on earth! So, doesn’t that prove that it’s just weak and lame of us, to claim that we can’t fast because it would “harm our emotional health?” I feel like, by playing this card, we out ourselves as just pampered, wimpy 21st century Westerners with no real problems.

Of course, you might argue that, well, fasting, in our case, could likely put us in a state of mind that’s vulnerable to relapse, and if that happens, then our physical health would suffer too, which perhaps feels less wimpy than complaining about our feelings. But, for counterpoint, see previous paragraph. We shouldn’t worry so much about our physical health, right, because the great saints have shown us that, if we truly fast for God, He won’t let it actually harm us.

But therein lies the problem, I think. Is someone with an ED even capable of fasting for God? I kind of don’t think so. I know in my case, whenever I even think about restricting food, it lights up the “yes, weight loss!” and/or the “I will be so perfect!” centers in my brain, out of which practically nothing good ever proceeds. I imagine it’s the same for anyone who’s had a serious or long-lasting ED. It seems impossible for us to fast without it being selfish (which an ED very much is, essentially). Even if we think we’re doing it for God, we’re probably actually getting some addictive, ego-pleasing little hit out of it. Heck, I think even if we yielded control to someone else, did it someone else’s way, let someone else prescribe us a specific plan with exact instructions what to eat and what not to, it would still light up all those disordered centers in our brains, because we would follow instructions the best, following the instructions would make us morally unimpeachable, etc. These processes are immediate, emotional reactions, not a conscious thought process that we can choose to interrupt.

I guess we could, with constant effort, work on fasting while also working on overcoming this disordered connection. But let’s be real, if fixing that broken connection were actually possible, EDs wouldn’t be such a cruelly persistent problem. As I said earlier, there is no cure. And the mental burden placed on an ED recoverer trying to fast, could be likened to that of a bona fide alcoholic trying to practice drinking in moderation. It simply does not work. Alcohol in any quantity is bad for the alcoholic.

So does it follow that restricting food, to any degree, is always bad for an ED recoverer?

I’m not sure. From my own experience, I know that, at times, as a recovered person, I realize how much physically better I feel when I eat lightly and get some exercise. Not even in a way that’s related to my size (not consciously, anyway); I simply feel physically better, and realizing that, as a recovered person, is a very liberating feeling, because it’s like, hey, I can eat salads and drink water without it being sad and disordered! I can actually choose between light and heavy foods according to my preferences! How novel!

But, at the same time, I’ve realized I have to be really careful when I feel that feeling. Feeling healthy and feather-light is super addictive to me, and pretty soon, if I’m not careful, there’s a law set in stone, and it’s all raw veg all day long whether I like it or not, and this becomes really hard to break out of.

So, is restricting always bad for someone with an ED? No, and yes. It’s slippery.

That’s why I think mandatory fasting from food for a predetermined length of time, is probably a bad idea for anyone with a history of serious ED. Our brains are broken. We just can’t fast like normies can.

But then what are we supposed to do for Lent? Should we just give up social media? That’s a good one, but IMO it doesn’t subjugate the flesh the same way fasting from food does (we who have been chronic restricters are already masters at subjugating the flesh that way, frankly; if you have ever been diagnosed with anorexia, suffice it to say that you’ve already earned an A+ in not yielding to the whims of your stomach). Should we perhaps give up a particular food or kind of food, and replace it with something equally nourishing that we enjoy less? Like, in my case, I might consider replacing my nightly chocolate protein smoothie with, like, a bowl of plain scrambled eggs, or something?

But tbh even the thought of that is lighting up my ED centers again. “Yes, I will be so good, I can do without pleasure!” “I can be so pure!” “I will only consume healthy proteins, I will cut out so much sugar!” To someone who’s never had an ED, these probably sound like great and healthy thoughts – but, if you’re prone to EDs, you get why they are not.

So, I’m inclined to think that any kind of “food law” is a bad idea, for us. We have something of an allergy to food laws.

One of my best, and hardest, Lenten fasts was actually the year I made myself sit down to eat meals with my family three times a day, hahaha. Normally I hate eating meals, and prefer quick, solitary snacks at random times throughout the day, staying pretty hungry until my one “large snack” right before bed. (Don’t talk to me about how unhealthy this pattern is, I already know. Trust me, I’ve spent decades trying to figure out how to manage food in my life, and I finally have a sustainable system that works decently well for me, so I’m not gonna fuck with it.) That Lent was really challenging, especially at first.

But honestly I don’t know if I’d repeat it, because I realized after the fact that any dietary law change like that kind of screws with my head, like, I found myself expecting to lose weight or achieve some higher level of perfection or familial bliss or something, like I’d win some Great Mom award for being so wholesome (“Look at me, I always make sure my family sits down to eat together three times a day, get on my level!”); and, like, I became slightly neurotic and puritanical about it, getting twitchy if my kids were out somewhere and I had to eat alone. It just didn’t feel entirely Lenten, that way, but more like a personal improvement exercise (not necessarily a bad thing, and perhaps I should try it again, but not as a Lenten fast). Self-improvement is not supposed to be the point of Lent at all.

And that’s the thing. It’s not even that fasting is bad for an ED recoverer’s health. It’s that, coming from us, fasting is not a good sacrifice for God.

So what will I do for Lent, then? I must find some way to subjugate the flesh without imposing food laws. Cold showers? Yikes, maybe. Exercise? Risky, as exercise addiction is a very real part of ED for many of us, including me. Waking up early? Extra chores? Yikes, might be a good idea. Will have to give it some prayerful consideration.

“But wait, Mith,” you may be saying, “you say no food laws, but aren’t you a vegetarian?”

I am, indeed, seven days a week. But at this point I’m literally vegetarian out of personal taste. I spent so many years avoiding meat for ethical/ED reasons, that I have developed an aversion to it; nowadays I simply find meat gross. I honestly wish I could go back to eating it, because I struggle with protein intake (see my post about my shitty hair). But when I eat meat I can’t get past the idea that I’m chewing on a carcass, that my stomach has become a graveyard, and it gives me the major ick. Although, I’m not a hardass about it, like, when I was pregnant with my son and randomly craved meat, I honored that and ate what I was craving (Arby’s roast beef sandwiches, and, a real nostalgia flavor for me, Fischer’s pickled bologna).

So would the great saints tell me I’m a wimp, for claiming exemption from fasting? Maybe. But they didn’t live in 21st century America, where EDs are a serious epidemic, so they probably wouldn’t understand. It’s a different world these days. New environments breed new diseases. I’m sure they understand now in Heaven.

After all, there’s nothing great about fasting in and of itself. Just like any suffering, it only has value if you do it for love of God. Which ED folks cannot. So, if we can find other ways to subjugate our flesh for love of God, I don’t know if God will really care that we did it some other way instead of by restricting food. He might even prefer that. At least, I hope so.

ETA: Part Two of this post is now available here!
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Am I still a real mom if I get an epidural?

January 15th, 2025

Writing this as a mom (real or not) who has given birth three different ways: without epidural, via c-section, and with epidural, in that order.

There’s a huge market right now for Natural Birth. It’s very on trend. I won’t go into the history and politics of this “natural birth movement” that’s surged in popularity in recent years, thanks especially to social media and the “crunchy mom” scene. I am not here to tell you about what the movement is or what it caused it or sustains it. I am just writing about all this from my own personal POV.

It does bother me that there’s so much fearmongering about anesthesia, interventions, and hospital births in general – and that so many influencers are making so much money off of said fearmongering, claiming that they can help you “achieve an unmedicated birth.” That’s messed up for quite a lot of reasons: interventions are not all necessarily bad for everyone, and are, in fact, good and helpful for a lot of people. So it sucks that people are pushing this idea on us that any intervention is a failure. People who sell this idea are getting rich off of vulnerable women’s irrational fears. We all want to have a good birth experience and do what’s best for our baby, so we tend to be easy prey for these “natural birth” sharks. It really sucks that they take advantage of women under the guise of trying to help us.

Which is not to say that I’m pro intervention. I absolutely believe minimal interventions are ideal (if everything is going well), and have always tried to avoid them when giving birth. (Although, I will always give birth in a hospital. True, pregnancy is not an illness, but there’s a lot that can go wrong during and immediately after birth, and modern medicine has a lot to offer us. Mad respect to any mom who’s confident enough to give birth at home, but I’m way too anxious, way too focused on worst case scenarios, to ever feel safe doing that.)

So then why do I choose to minimize interventions myself, when I can, if I’m really of the opinion that interventions can be a good thing? Why yes, I am being hypocritical.

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Sometimes I’ll see comments online like “if a woman can’t handle the pain of giving birth, she’s not ready to be a mom” or “she doesn’t deserve motherhood.” “Real women do it the way God intended.” Stuff like that.

And it does get under my skin, because a large part of me wonders if that’s true. Are women who are out there “raw dogging” labor and delivery truly superior to those who get meds? Are the au naturel moms truly more respectable and deserving, more “real?” Sometimes, I hate to admit, I actually think yes.

But, I recognize that this part of me, the part that thinks this, is irrational, unhealthy, egotistical, proud, and obsessed with being superior, with having the moral high ground. With being “morally unimpeachable.” It’s the same part of me that fuels the ED.

Or is it? Is the “wrong” part of my brain actually right? Even with all of these different birth experiences under my belt (literally, ha ha), I am still in doubt.

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I won’t be talking much about my second birth experience, because in that pregnancy I had this random complication called complete placenta previa, which was totally beyond my control, and means that the placenta randomly decided to grow right on top of the cervix, thereby blocking baby’s exit. So in that situation, your only choices are (a) early c-section, or (b) bleed out during birth and both you and baby die. Doctors don’t let you go into labor if you have CPP, as it can be super dangerous for reason (b) just cited. So, that birth, while a valid birth, isn’t really going to be relevant to this post.

With my first, I did not get an epidural. And I felt like a real badass. The baby was a honking nine pounds + nine ounces, and it took three hours, a very skilled and patient midwife, and a lot of weird positions to push her out of my body. But I was absolutely terrified of ending up with a c-section, and that terror fueled my determination to persist. I also believed, at the time, that this was going to be my only birth experience ever, and really wanted to get it right. And I pretty much did. I certainly had some bragging rights after that. All the nurses on the floor were talking about me and how awesome I was. It felt great.

So you’d think that, after that, I’d definitely be able to go unmedicated again, especially considering that second labors tend to be faster. But, with baby #3 (who weighed a whole pound less than #1), I actually ended up getting the epidural. Why? What went “wrong?”

Well, every birth and every baby are different, for one. That is more true than I ever realized before having kids.

For two, it is also important to remember that, when going into my first birth, I had no other kids yet. So I was much more rested (oh, how I took uninterrupted sleep for granted, before having babies!). It was a lovely day: my day off work, I got up, worked out, got dressed and made-up and had breakfast and drove in for my midmorning 40 week checkup, at which the OB looked at my ultrasound and advised an induction that same day. No problem! (Was I thrilled about an induction? No, but I also wanted to do right by my baby, and the doctor said that baby was at risk if I remained pregnant; plus, based on his exam of me he didn’t think I would require the dreaded Pitocin, so it sounded alright to me.) Drove on over to the hospital, calmly checked in, got comfy in the L&D room, was given a dose of Cytotec, then just hung out and chilled with my husband watching The Office on his phone for a few hours, waiting for the Braxton-Hicks to turn into real contractions. I was on maternity leave now! Vacay mode! It was, in retrospect, so chill, so logistically simple, so low-pressure! No wonder I felt strong enough to power through with no anesthesia. Also, at that point in my life, I was less than one year sober. So, still very fresh in my memory were the days when I was constantly hungover and sick, so I guess comfort was still pretty novel and misery just normal to me. It sounds funny but it’s true. Being a functioning alcoholic is very hard physical work, you develop a high tolerance for discomfort in order to survive. Perhaps that also had something to do with why I was able to tough it out that time.

Interestingly, I was also told, after the fact, that Cytotec, the medication that was used to induce me, does tend to make the hard part of labor start sooner and last longer. So, I had just barely gotten started when it got quite painful. I guess this allowed me to adapt while I was still fresh, still had my wits about me, or something. You’d think that being in greater pain for a longer time would make me more likely to ask for anesthesia, but for me it was the opposite; it was like I had time to build up to the grand finale.

Contrast all of that with the birth of my third. I had a two year old and an eighteen month old at home, and my eighteen month old had just had surgery (in the very same hospital) twenty-four hours ago. I obviously did not sleep the night before her surgery, nor was I able to fall asleep that night because the contractions were starting to get bad, so I drove into L&D around midnight. So, I was tired. I was very tired. I was also three years sober, so my pain tolerance was lowered. I’d gotten used to feeling normal, by this point.

And labor was different, as I was not induced, and up until the last two or three hours, it was tolerable. (Not tolerable enough to eat or sleep, but tolerable.) Then suddenly, around 7cm, it got exponentially worse. That sudden shift jarred me. And I don’t know if baby’s position was slightly different or something, but the sensation itself was indescribably less bearable; it felt like my hip bones were being pressed apart from the inside, which, my first child did not bless me with that particular sensation. So I asked for the epidural. I felt like a wimp, but it was also great, and birth was a breeze, downright fun and pleasant, from that point on.

But now, looking back on these two experiences, I wonder if I wasn’t also swayed by the individuals in the room with me. I used a doula both times, and both were super cool people whom I really admired and looked up to, in different ways. My doula with #1 was more natural-minded, a really beautiful and wise soul: although she never once imposed her personal views on me in the slightest, her holistic philosophy was part of what drew me to her in the first place, as, like most moms, I wanted to try for an unmedicated birth. Whereas, my doula with #3 was very pro-pain relief, and was in fact very opposed to the toxic aspects of the natural birth movement, which I really respected and learned a whole lot from; her courage and self-knowledge, at such a young age, were so impressive. Did I maybe let my decision re: my own birth be swayed by my desire to please or impress both of these extremely cool and enviable women, who I wanted to like me? Not consciously, but I think it’s possible. I’m a very impressionable person.

Also, the doctors. With #1 I was lucky that the on-call doc right as I was pushing was actually a CNM (certified nurse midwife), who was willing and able to help me get the baby out naturally (the OB on call right before her, who had been there for the beginning of the pushing phase, was visibly irritated with me for taking so long, and told me flat out that that baby was not going to come out of my body and we would need to do a c-section; thank God the shift changed and that CNM took over!). This CNM was really encouraging, gave me this whole pep talk about how I could get this baby out, do not listen to the negative thoughts, etc., and she stayed with me for well over an hour, maybe even two, helping me, caring for me like a mother, very hands-on. I felt very safe and supported with her.

Contrast that with the doctors on call at the end of labor with #3. My most vivid memory of that whole birth was, in the morning, the OB showing up to my room and doing a cervical check to see where I was at (7-7.5), and he literally said “alright, well, it typically takes about an hour to dilate each centimeter, so, I’ll be back to check on you in three hours!” and walked briskly out, with a little polite smile. And I was immediately like: WAT? excuse me, sir? three hours?? Three more hours of this? Nope. I cannot do this. That was the moment I knew I was going to ask for anesthesia.

Why did he have to say that? Lol.

Not blaming anyone else, of course. It is what it is, in a hospital – when you give birth in a hospital you accept that you have no control over who will be attending when baby comes out. That’s just a risk you live with in exchange for the security of a hospital. Doctors are busy, and have multiple patients delivering at once (there was, in fact, another mom down the hall who was pushing at the exact same moment I was, so Doc was basically sprinting back and forth between rooms, haha). It’s not ideal. But, still worth it IMO, for the security of being in a hospital.

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But so did I fail, by getting an epidural with my third? Am I less of a mom now? Less of a woman? (Weird question, considering I already don’t feel like a “real woman” and never have, lol. Which I think is part of why I felt so driven to go unmedicated in the first place: thinking that, maybe if I can do this, that will prove that I’m a real woman.) Sometimes, sadly, I do think so. These thoughts started to creep in in the weeks and months following the birth, as I began to process it. Maybe if I had just been tougher. Maybe if I had just prepared more…

Which, I realize, is total BS! The birth went great. Baby was healthy, I was healthy, we recovered perfectly with no complications, nursing went great, bonding went great. (Not employing survivor’s bias here; it’s definitely not true that there are never complications from an epidural; just saying that I had an objectively great experience.) And, the epidural itself was delightful. I was afraid I’d be numb like I was for the c-section (hated that), but no, I could still feel my legs and even move them around, they were just very heavy, like they were full of warm sand, and kinda tingly. I still had sensation, just no pain. It was awesome! So why do I feel like I missed out or failed by sparing myself a few minutes of unnecessary agony?

Is it because today’s Natural Birth Movement, with all its woman-shaming, profit-driven propaganda, has gotten under my skin? If I were giving birth in the ‘70s or ‘80s, would I feel so bad about getting an epidural? Probably not.

Or is it because of my Catholic guilt? I worry it might be some of both. God designed this process, so why should I cheat and try to sidestep His plan? The great saints offered up their suffering to God with joy, so why couldn’t I do the same? I guess I just don’t love God enough–?

I’m trying to come up with a refutation for that argument, and struggling. In reality I know I don’t need to feel guilty for being weak: God made us weak and needy little sorry creatures, naturally inclined to accept, nay, beg for any kind of anesthesia during any kind of struggle. It’s not like getting an epidural is some kind of sin, haha. But is it an imperfection?

That I don’t know. I don’t know if I really believe that unmedicated birth is superior, or if those thoughts are just the old self-loathing poking its head up again like a whack-a-mole popping out of a new hole. As I was saying in the beginning, I am inclined to think that a lot of it is self-loathing, and that it’s the same for a great many women out there: the Natural Birth predators feed upon their self-loathing, which is epidemic in this era of poor mental health and antidepressants, poor body image and low self-esteem. This movement, and those who push it, feed upon these vulnerable women’s desire to prove to themselves that they are somehow worthy. Which is sick, and definitely not God’s will.

If that’s true, then accepting an epidural during birth is actually an act of rebellion, an act of courage, in a world that wants to tell you you’re not good enough if you do so. However, they say the same thing in the ED recovery world: loving yourself in a world that wants you to hate yourself is a radical act of courage. Yup, I hear that, and nod my head in approval: this sounds like great advice, for somebody else. But for some reason this advice does not apply to me lol, because I am actually worse than everyone else. 🙃

For better or for worse, I think that when, God willing, the time comes for me to give birth again, I’m going to try to avoid the epidural, if only because I find more than enough reasons to talk shit about myself to myself already lol, I don’t particularly need one more. Best believe I’ll be using a midwife instead of an OB, though.