Dearest One,

Today we mark ten years of marriage. Happily, even. With a touch of pride and a cautious joy. Given that a few short months ago I didn’t think I wanted to stay married I’d say we’re doing pretty well.

Ten years ago when I married you under the muggy late-spring sun on that post-thunderstorm day in May, I thought you were so sexy. You were standing up there in your rental tux, all dapper and grown-up and ready to whisk me away into a world of which we clearly knew absolutely nothing.

Let’s be honest, we were just kids playing a grown-up’s game, me still a teenager and you barely finished being one. We were in love though. I’ll swear it to my grave that we were. You know, of course, that at that point it was the kind of hormonal, romantic-notion love that is positively bursting pregnant with hope and naivete. The sort that’s certain the world has bestowed a never-ending burning love upon them. Love that aches when physically apart and smolders when together. Sexy back then was breathlessness and wide-eyed lash-flutters, heart palpitations and passionately united bodies unmarked by child-rearing and age.

Let’s be honest though, we were truly in love.  We spoke each other’s names softly when we held hands at the downtown jazz club, ordering things that made us feel grown-up like escargots and wine. We laughed and gazed in one another’s eyes, and we strolled along the boardwalk as lovers, doing all those things young love is wont to do. We dreamt of the love-saturated life in technicolor that we’d lead, bright future indeed, then went home to our tiny apartment to make love without worrying about babies waking up to nurse or toddlers wetting the bed.

Four months ago I had the worst Christmas of my life.

We were either fighting or simmering below-the-surface the entire day because we just couldn’t for the life of us meet in the middle. The middle of what? I don’t know exactly but it felt like a desert. Vast and expansive and completely parched, populated by bills and piles of laundry and peed on sheets and harsh words, in the company of a whole herd of tiny dictators that apparently we were qualified to birth and raise. We couldn’t even be happy together on Christmas. It was wretched. It had been that way more-days-than-not for a long while.

The day after Christmas I emailed a marriage counselor and asked if you’d come with me.

You did.

I had no idea how we got there, to that horribly unhappy place, but there we were. I guess it has to do with having a bunch of beautiful babies in a relatively short time, moving across the country, getting little sleep and even less alone-time, and watching your dreams and plans crumble. They say we humans tend to take out our stress on those we trust and love the most, and I’d wager that after several straight years of this we each just grew tired of it.

We grew tired of each other. I didn’t know you anymore, and the leftover tired bits were not altogether amiable, nor mine for you, if I’m being truthful.

We talked about it. Actually mostly we fought about it, but when we managed to talk civilly it was pointless. We had no magic solutions. We didn’t want to divorce, but we tossed the word around, wondering if it was a looming inevitability.

If something drastic doesn’t change, we said, there’s no way we’ll be together in a year’s time. I just… (deflated and hopeless). I just don’t know anymore. I don’t.

Trapped. Wounded. Our aching and bleeding frail hearts had grown paper-thin. The old tired wounds kept piling on hurt and anguish and brick-by-brick it continued until there was a mammoth wall looming in between us that we did not know how to dismantle.

It was wearying to keep our secret as we played married bliss to the world.

So, finally, hanging on by a bare thread, we dragged our marriage into a therapist’s office, cracked and bleeding, plopped down into the chairs where the air crackled with awkward tension. It was the sexiest thing I think you’ve ever done for me. For us.

You know, to be honest – I think we’ve come to a new kind of sexy now.

Today you showed up at the zoo to surprise me and the kids. You finished work early and ran to us. Kids that were whiny and tired, a hot and sunburnt wife who handed the deliciously chubby baby over for you to hold. And you came to us, your smile twinkled the corners of your eyes and you walked with us. You just came to be with us because you didn’t want to be elsewhere.

We stopped for ice cream on the way home and then you started teaching our oldest to ride a two-wheeler in the driveway while twilight set on and the baby chattered and crawled and ate dandilions. Our daughter rode her tricycle around and we all basked in this glorious life of sunshine and bare filthy feet and toddler drama, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier.

Today sexy means fathering our children and making them feel loved. Making my coffee at night so it’s ready to go in the morning when you leave early for work? That’s sexy. Doing the hard things and swallowing pride down deep when conflicts arise and saying sorry and being sorry and loving me more than your own pride is sexy. That’s what sexy is. Damn straight that’s sexy. It’s sexy when you hold my hand tenderly across the space between our chairs in marriage counseling and when you look at me like that. Like you know we can make it, even if we can’t figure out how. Like you just desperately want to like/love me but can’t and so we ask for help and you are willing. Willing to do the hard things. Talk the hard talks and live the hard ways.

It’s not easy being married almost a decade and realizing you really kind of hate the person beside you in the bed. When the empty space in the sheets between you may as well be a chasm for all the touching we’d done lately. Our feet used to find each other in bed as our dog-tired eyes drooped shut and we were in between awake and snoring. Then somehow they stopped and the space in the sheets grew cold and our hearts got all bent outta shape and frail.

So we fought for it. We stumbled on redemption in the unlikely sexy acts of taking out the smelly-diaper trash, going to marriage counseling, and texting each other apologies for misspoken harsh words.

Tonight, while in the driveway, your eye caught mine between helmet tightenings and you gave me the lovey eyes. You haven’t done that in a long time. Your smile crinkled your eyes up and you did that thing with your eyebrow that you do when you’re content. We had an argument the other day and it felt like the exception rather than the rule, and last night our feet found each other again in bed.

The hard work of Every Day Life brings restoration to a crumbling marriage and whispers sexy back into a couple of hip minivan parents with tired circles under their eyes and a spirit bolstered by a hope that simply refuses to die.

There’s none other in the world I’d rather do that hard work with than you.

All of my love forever,

B

Fast Tube by Casper

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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It’s been over five years since I got pregnant with my first. I’ve birthed three babies now and I have the mom-bod to prove it, and that, my friends, is precisely where this post comes in…

I have spent many a rushed ten minutes before leaving the house, frantically trying on eight different outfits before finding one that actually fits and doesn’t make me look 6 months pregnant. I do, you know. Look six months pregnant, that is. Oh yes, I do. You don’t believe me, do you? That’s because I am the suck-it-in expert. It’s true, and it’s exhausting. Allow me to (gulp) prove it to you. Introducing my 7-months-postpartum-for-the-third-time body:

That is my belly at exactly 7 months postpartum after my third child. Standing straight with muscles relaxed, not sucking it in at all. 38 squishy inches around my navel.

Until a few months ago, I believed that this was a relatively normal thing. The postpartum poochy belly that you’ve gotta tuck into your pants. The belly that still looks pregnant. Ugh. It’s embarrassing and shameful, and I am tired of the struggle to love myself and feel sexy and beautiful while also waiting for someone to mistakenly congratulate me on being preggers again.

Don’t get me wrong, I am profoundly grateful to my body. This body has brought forth three brand new sparkling humans with all of the grit and glorious transcendence of birthing and groaning. A body that bears witness to the spiritual event of creation and has been sagged and stretched and marked with silver lines. That is no small thing you know.

All three of them grew in my belly. No wonder it’s a bit worn out.

At the same time I know that I need to be fair to this body of mine. I want to be proud of my marks and lines that give whisper to my role in the co-creation of life, but I also want a flatter tummy and a little less jiggle in my behind. Are you pickin’ up what I’m layin’ down, my friends? I want both, and for the first time ever, I think I can actually have it.

A few months ago I learned about something called diastasis recti: an abdominal injury that causes several symptoms including a poochy belly that won’t go away, lower back pain, and slight urinary incontinence (we all know the pee-a-little-when-you-laugh-or-sneeze jokes among women who have given birth!). This is an actual injury where your abdominal muscles are separated and do not come back together on their own, and it can lead to much more serious health complications including bowel displacement, herniation, and prolapse. Bethany at Fit2B Studio has a video to show you how to check your belly for a diastasis. I checked mine a couple of months ago and found a separation of 3 finger-widths!

photo source

My first two births were attended by doctors, and my third was by a midwife. My doctors didn’t mention a single thing about this issue, my midwife at least checked my abs at my 6-week-postpartum appointment, but it wasn’t until a friend happened to mention diastastis that I googled it and gulped down the information like a thirsty person in the desert. My still-pregnant-looking belly is a medical condition? One that’s not my fault? One that can be healed?! My jaw hung open as I drank in the information I read at Fit2B.

What a lot of people don’t understand about this injury is that the traditional advice to do crunches actually makes things worse! Bethany explains it all on her site. Thankfully there is a way to heal from this injury. There are specific, gentle exercises that you can do to heal a diastastis recti, and I am embarking on a healing journey for myself, beginning today.

I am going to be blogging about my journey over the next few months as I do the exercises and try to heal and flatten my tummy. We’ll find out together if it really is possible!

I’m calling it The Postpartum Body Project, and this is Week One.

(Also, Bethany doesn’t list “de-jigglify your bum” on her list of benefits of using her exercises, but I’m definitely hoping it’ll be a bonus byproduct…)

This is my mission. To love myself, first, no holds barred, no jiggle left behind. Then, to do all that I can to heal my diastasis recti and get in shape (a shape other than round).

I’m going to love myself either way, that’s the non-negotiable here.

I’m inviting you along for the ride, as I blog my way through it. I have no idea what will happen. Maybe my belly will stay just as pregnant-looking as it does now. Maybe I’ll never shed my mom-butt. Maybe I’ll get a hot bod back just in time for beach weather. Maybe.

Either way it’ll be quite the adventure.

Do you think you may have a diastasis? Or are you just interested in gentle exercise that gets you in shape while also being kind to your body? Fit2B offers monthly memberships. It’s completely online so it’s accessible to anyone, anywhere with an internet connection! It’s just $9.99/month or $99/annually but for today’s giveaway you can win a 3-month membership FREE.

Enter using the form below!

I hope you’ll join me on this journey over the next few months as I blog my way through it! For more encouragement and information on healing diastasis, check out two of my blogging mama friends who are also embarking on this journey of diastasis healing. Emily at Live Renewed started hers a few weeks ago, and Erin at The Humbled Homemaker is starting hers today as well.

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Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Let’s be serious here, you are a kid in a grown-up’s body. A Mom Bod nonetheless, and with the muffin top to prove it. You’re wearing chevron striped flats with your skinny jeans and yet you’re sure *something* will give you away. You’re not as cool and collected as you desperately want to be, and so you quake a little as you walk into the room. Eyes round and heart bursting with nervous energy and a tiny bit of hope that you stuff down deep lest you trip and land on your face or say the wrong thing or worse: have absolutely no one to talk to.

Let’s be honest here, you’re a daughter of the most high king who declares you worthy regardless. He hand crafted you from dust and nothing into something, a beauty bestowed with all of the authority of heaven and earth. This glowing planet, sun rising above gold-specked trees sings to the wonder of creation, and those trees whose stunning beauty you drink in today are but ashes compared to the exquisite creation of humanity. You are one of these, and Oh! You are bursting with God-breathed beauty.

Let’s be real here, you have no idea what you’re doing. You just want to be noticed, you want to be invited, wanted, accepted. You want to be genuine and understood. The sisterhood of women is strong and you feel it, hearts thumping and pumping and crying out to Jesus to praise him for the precious treasure of connecting our hearts to one another in an act of worship to the One who created community at the very beginning. Gritty and raw and real and glorious.

Let’s be optimistic here, your heart and soul, your bones, they cry out a primal calling to join together in heart-pounding love. See the ones who are like you. See the ones who aren’t. See the girl in skinnies and the one with fabulous hair and the one without. Inhale and beckon them in to unity, to acceptance to a celebration of God-breathed beauty in all of us, and peel open your heart in layers. Strip away the pretense and the vanity, the pride and the fear. Hold gingerly your heart of hearts out to your sisters and risk it all.

Inhale.

Open your heart.

Exhale.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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…have I ever chopped my hair this short. I’m still getting used to it. I feel like a boy.

The above pic was the before shot of my hair (Yesterday we took the kids to a farm with all kinds of kid activities. This is us on a wagon ride. On real hay. It was fun).

And this… is the now…

Good grief. I feel like I’m looking at a picture of someone else.

Have you ever chopped your hair way short and took a while to get used to it? Will I love it in the morning?

(PS… posts that aren’t about my hair shall return soon… I promise.)

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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one of the very first photos taken on my new iPod touch

I went to an overnight retreat last weekend with a bunch of other moms from the weekly mom’s group that I attend. 24 hours away from the daily grind. Indulgent snacks, board games, laughter, and good ol’ chatting with no interruptions from the little people in our lives. It was lovely, as you can imagine. My hubby held down the fort with the kiddos, and when I got home Sunday evening, they weren’t there. (I later found out that they’d gone mother’s day shopping in the city).

I debated whether I should worry and fret (no note! and I had his cell with me! sheesh!), or just grab my laptop and a cup of tea and relax. I logged on to Facebook and checked out the latest in our local community’s swap and buy group.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head.

Hubs had posted his iPhone for sale the night before, and was in the midst of negotiations with the interested parties. 

What the WHAT?!

You have to understand – this is the man that was taking computers apart and putting them back together again for fun at the age of twelve. The same man who had several years of a career as a professional sound guy, pushing buttons and playing with technology to his heart’s content. The very same man that now flies airplanes for a living and is totally geeked out by the cool technology in the cockpit.

Yeah.

***

Rewind to about a week ago when we were chatting about what I might like for the upcoming mother’s day celebration. I told him that I just wanted to sleep in, have a special breakfast, then a general day of relaxing family time, maybe not have to cook at all – that kind of thing. He told me that he really wanted to get me a special gift.

Me: “what is it?”

Him: “I can’t tell you!”

Me: “Is it expensive?”

Him: tries to lie but sucks badly “Noooo…”

Me: (rolling my eyes but feeling loved knowing that his love language is “gifts” in a major way…) ”Oh dear. What is it? You know we have no extra money at all right now”

Him: “I can’t tell you!”

Me: “Just tell me how much it costs and I’ll tell you if we can do it”

Him: “umm, like $200″

Me: (freaking out) “Honey! That’s sweet… but you know we can’t possibly afford that!”

Him: “Yeah. But I have a plan”.

Me: “Uh oh.”

(PS. I totally guessed correctly what it was and because he’s a really terrible liar he admitted the truth. It was cute.)

***

Back to present-day and the iPhone sale… I couldn’t believe he was actually doing it. He was selling his iPhone for two reasons: first – to save us money in our monthly budget, and second – to be able to buy me an iPod touch – something I’d mentioned that I wanted for my birthday in a couple of months so that I had a little pocket camera, etc. but without the monthly fees of an iPhone.

So, with 2.5 years left on the contract (that was taken over by the buyer) we will save ourselves $1,200, plus $100 for the sale of the phone. He will be getting himself a cheap cell phone, mainly for emergencies or when he’s not around a phone – maybe a pay-as-you go kind or whatever happens to be cheapest.

I am seriously touched by his thoughtfulness, and still a bit floored at how he chose to express it this time.

***

This is, of course, one of the other very first photos taken with my iPod. Note the dandelion flower bouquet in her cute little hands.

We are really starting to question the things we think we need. The ways we live our lives and the choices we make in our spending. Was the iPhone nice? Sure it was. I enjoyed web surfing on long car rides and never getting lost thanks to the built-in GPS and google map search. I loved being able to talk to him pretty much whenever. But was it really needed? Was it worth the monthly charges and strain on our budget? Not really.

Sometimes it is so easy to get caught up in the belief that we “need” certain things to be happy. This doesn’t just apply to the stereotypical “rich folks”. It also applies to me thinking that my life is somehow less complete when my house is not perfectly decorated, pinterest-style. Or when I doubt and question whether I could be happy in a 2-bedroom apartment as a family of five. Or when I pout a little over giving up the iPhone because then whatever will I do with the hour-long car ride to the city? Talk to my husband? Read a book? Crochet? Scandalous, I know.

I know, I know, lots of people in our society live without a smartphone and they survive just fine. This really is a sob story of a privileged first-worlder. But to me the iPhone has been symbolic. What else are holding on to in our lives that may not be the wisest thing for us? One day when hubby has moved beyond entry-level aviation and we can afford it again, maybe we’ll be an iPhone family again. Who knows?

One thing is for sure though – we want to live with our possessions held loosely and our loved ones held tight. We want to be a family that values relationships and wise living. A family that models counter-cultural choices to our kids.

For us, it was by saying farewell to the pretty little iPhone.

What might it be for you?

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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It’s a incredible group, but we have this one major flaw. It’s a woman thing, I think, and it is this: we apologize.

When we go around the circle sharing our prayer requests (otherwise known as our life updates), we often apologize for chattering on too much and taking up too much time, or for breaking down emotionally and crying over an issue that is particularly heavy on our hearts. They’ve done it. I’ve done it.

“I didn’t want to cry, I’m sorry” (sniff sob, pass the kleenex)…

“I will stop now, sorry for talking your ears off!” (after unloading a heart full of burden).

Apologies left, right, and centre… all for being open and vulnerable and transparent. For opening up the nitty-gritty and trusting each other with our hearts. To do so is rarely neat and tidy, passionless, or brief, and yet somehow we’ve come to believe that it should be. Why do women do this? Why do we apologize for letting our beautiful messes show?

Do we believe that a good woman is able to always keep it together?

Do we believe that a good woman is never burdened so heavily that she spews out her cares in a torrent of words and soul bits onto trusting friends while going over the unofficial (nonexistent) allotted five minutes per person?

Do we believe that a good woman is properly schooled in the art of manners and propriety and would never break down with vulnerability to unload the gritty realities of her life? Especially is she were to be “overly” emotional about it all?

I don’t.

I just don’t.

I believe that a good woman is one who shares her heart and admits her struggles to those who love her. I believe a good woman is one who can be vulnerable and brave enough to bare her heart’s cry and messiness. I believe that a good woman is one who will let the overwhelming emotions pour out in an honest and healing cry instead of bottling them inside. I believe that a good woman is often genuine, honest, vulnerable, and rarely prim and proper.

There is so much grace and loving in this way of living.

I think it’s time we stopped apologizing for being women who share our hearts.

Let’s stop being sorry and start being brave!

Let’s be unapologetic and let’s live open to joy and grace and love and all of the beauty that comes along.

(Let’s ignore the clock and pass the kleenex…) 

***

{Galatians 6:2 – “Carry each other’s burdens and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ”}

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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This is the fourth instalment of a series I am doing on breastfeeding in public. You can read the first three posts here:

Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public {Reclaiming My Womanhood From Perversity}
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public {Is It Obscene and Inappropriate?}
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public {Not Worth the Controversy?}

***

People stared at me as I walked through the mall. My face was disfigured and swollen practically beyond recognition, with deep nasty bruises from my eyes down to my neck on both sides. I could see people shifting their gazes when I noticed them staring at me uncomfortably.

I was 18 years old and I had undergone major reconstructive jaw surgery two weeks prior.

Both of my jaws had been broken, repositioned, and fastened in place with screws and plates. The top jaw was impacted (shortened) and the bottom jaw was lengthened. I was in the hospital longer and had a longer recovery than my boyfriend’s (now husband’s) grandfather who had undergone quadruple bypass open heart surgery just two days prior. The swelling and bruising eventually faded, and after a pure liquid diet for 2 months (which dropped me down to around 90lbs) I was able to begin eating again.

***

This was my only taste of being physically different (unless you count having red hair – haha), and it was only temporary. Still – the feeling of being stared at by people who uncomfortably shifted their gazes away will stay with me forever. Some people endure this kind of social ostracizing their whole lives if they have a visible disability or disfigurement. I used to have a coworker who has an extremely large growth on half of her face about the size of a pineapple (or bigger). I don’t know the whole medical background, but I do know that she’s had it for most of her life. I found it difficult to not feel slightly awkward or uncomfortable when speaking with her face to face, even after working in the same office every day.

Now what does this all have to do with breastfeeding in public, you ask? Well, by large the most common reason that I was given as to why we should not breastfeed in public without a cover is that it makes people uncomfortable. Some claim that it is more loving to avoid making someone feel uncomfortable, and that it’s not worth causing a controversy.

“I guess I figure if breastfeeding makes people uncomfortable, and it doesn’t hurt to cover up, and it isn’t sin to cover up, why wouldn’t I cover up?”

This comment left on one of my previous posts is rather typical of the position that I’m discussing here, so I’ll use it as an example. Now, let’s replace the word “breastfeeding” in that sentence with “the disfigurement”. Should my coworker have come to work every day with a large covering over half of her head so that none of us had to look at it and be uncomfortable? Or perhaps she should have just stayed home? Or worked in a separate room where no one had to see her?

Is it the responsibility of the disabled person, burn victim, or person with the disfigurement to “cover it up” so that others don’t feel uncomfortable? Or, perhaps, is it the responsibility of those around her to “get over it” and treat her with respect and dignity despite their emotional reaction at the sight of her? Who bears responsibility for those uncomfortable feelings (which, I should remind you, are the result of the wrong and perverted message of our over-sexualized pornographic culture)?

Now I’m certainly not saying that breastfeeding and a physical disfigurement are identical situations. There are obvious differences, like the fact that breastfeeding is not a 24/7 deal (though new mamas probably feel that way!), whereas having a disfigurement or disability is not something that you can stop having.

Nonetheless, I do think there is a valid comparison here. The assertion being made is that we should avoid making people uncomfortable. I just want to know why. Since when is feeling uncomfortable such a terrible thing? Historically it has been a necessary side effect of many instances of social change as new ideas were brought into acceptance. I think of things like racial integration in the 1960’s, and women’s rights in the early twentieth century. Then I think of things like having a large family (I’ve heard mamas of many children tell over and over again about the nasty looks and ridiculously rude comments they get in public). If one day I have a large number of children (like 5 or more), should I avoid taking my family out in public all at once? It will most certainly cause people to feel uncomfortable! Perhaps I should take them out only in groups of two or three so as to not to ick people out with the evidence of my lively sex life and my rejecting of modern society’s negative bias against children?

If you affirm that the disabled and disfigured should cover up or hide away, and that my (theoretical) eight children should avoid going out in public together, well then I shall agree that I definitely should use a nursing cover as to not make you or anyone else feel the slightest bit awkward (actually, no I won’t. I will likely think you completely ridiculous and rude, to be honest). But I don’t think any reasonable person would actually affirm that.

From a spiritual point of view, I do not believe that breastfeeding in public could possibly “cause a man to stumble” any more than eating in public, walking in public, or just being in public! First of all, we should always interpret scripture in context, and in this case the passage is referring to food issues and the OT laws against unclean meat. It is saying that we should not eat something that someone else thinks is unclean if it causes them to stumble and eat it against their conscience. Does seeing me breastfeed in public cause someone who thinks that breast milk is forbidden by scripture to stumble and drink breast milk against their conscience? Somehow I don’t think so.

Even if you could apply that scripture to this situation, you would need to also be consistent. If seeing a non-sexual act of breastfeeding a child could “cause a man to stumble”, then I feel compelled to point out that seeing a woman’s hair, neck, legs, etc. could also do the same. This goes back perfectly to my discussion on modesty, and I ask then Why Don’t We All Just Wear Burqas? I contend, rather, that the man is responsible for his own thoughts, his own perverted thoughts, and his own sin. Most of us know that breasts have been over-sexualized by our culture to an unhealthy and harmful extent. Breastfeeding is not a sexual act – it is actually our culture’s distorted view of a woman’s body that is to blame for this theoretical discomfort and awkwardness.

The triple whammy of social taboo: 1) Breastfeeding in public 2) Breastfeeding without a cover 3) Breastfeeding a toddler. Gasp!

So, where does that leave us? If breastfeeding makes others feel uncomfortable, should I use a cover? If a man sees me breastfeeding my baby and it results in him lusting and sinning sexually in his mind, then should I use a cover? (never mind that most men still know what I’m doing and are perfectly capable of using their imaginations if they want to, which can still result in lust and sin). Or, should I breastfeed my baby without a cover (assuming I want to, of course) and contribute to the normalization of breastfeeding in our culture as a beautiful and natural act of love by a mother to her baby? I strongly believe the latter, and I wholeheartedly reject the notion that I am in any way responsible for the awkward feelings of others that come from such a situation.

What do you think?

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Boy-meets-girl love story begins in high school, complete with shirts, ties, and knee socks.

She’s 17. He’s 18.

They fall deeply, ridiculously, intensely in love. The easy kind of love.

3 weeks in they talk marriage.

More certainty in her bones than for any other decision in her life.

Marriage at the tender 19 and 20 years of age.

It’s better than they had ever dared to hope.

Travel and nesting and learning and living and enjoying each other.

Reality rudely intruding at times with humanity’s selfishness, but love still greater.

Finally, the arrival of a new kind of love in the form of a babe.

With it comes a new kind of stress and challenge to the union. The need to work harder.

Still love. But the hard-work kind of love.

The easy love fades into oblivion.

8 years of marriage later and there are two kids, a minivan, and a whole lot of unresolved distance.

Heavy responsibilities, sleepless nights, long working hours, unmet expectations, unfair expectations, and still… love?

But love doesn’t come easy anymore.

Love is now on the back burner.

Snide remarks and grumpy attitudes rule the roost as selflessness takes a backseat.

And the love feels different.

Trapping.

Heavy.

Lukewarm.

And yet, hopeful.

There it is, in the fiber of their being, a smouldering and undeniable love for each other.

As their hands brush in the kitchen, and he kisses his bride.

She fearfully lets some of the walls come down enough to really kiss him back.

And she offers words of understanding and appreciation, and a foot rub.

And he gets up early with the kids so she can sleep in.

They love now with intent. With action. With selfless choices.

With a daily surrender to self.

They trudge along in the thickness of life continuing the climb until they are rewarded with the view from the top.

Stopping to take a breath when the sun breaks through the clouds and gives perspective again.

Denying the urge to live for self and instead living for another. For love. For life.

Until it’s second-nature. Until it’s easy again.

And at the end they rock in their chairs on the front porch with grey hair while holding hands and reminiscing.

Of how they loved and loved and loved.

And how that love looked different depending on the season.

Sometimes difficult to see through the haze of humanity.

But sometimes felt with passion, known with certainty, and enjoyed with abandon.

The sometimes-glimpse of heaven.

They never gave in to hopelessness. They knew that it was worth the work.

Until it was easy again.

They never stopped loving.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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The bolded quotes below are comments that I received (on Facebook) regarding my post “Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public {Reclaiming My Womanhood from Perversity}“.

“I just find it interesting that both sides worry about the other…let those who want to breastfeed breast feed however cover or no cover and others go on about their biz–people can i please have the time you spend worrying about this –this world is ridiculous –let s just all get along ”

“We all need to get over ourselves and worry about real problems like world hunger or something.”

Is this just a matter of “live and let live”? Is it true that we should just “let” everyone breastfeed the way they want, covered or uncovered, and just stop “worrying about it”? Is this a shallow and trite conversation not worth having?

I’m going to have to argue that it’s not that simple, and here’s why:

We perpetuate the over-sexualization of breasts by hiding away the natural use for them and attaching shame and discomfort to it, and in doing so we are in fact harming young girls and women.

This is bigger than just a personal rant for wanting to nurse without a cover. It is certainly not “just another mommy war”. It is about our society’s values and cultural lessons, and how we are raising each generation to think about the human body. It is about all of us.

A task force of the American Psychological Association defines sexualization as follows: “when a person’s value comes only from her/his sexual appeal or behavior, to the exclusion of other characteristics, and when a person is sexually objectified, e.g., made into a thing for another’s sexual use.” By attaching shame to the act of uncovered breastfeeding in public, it is an act of sexually objectifying the woman. It is basically saying that she couldn’t possibly have a non-sexual use of her breasts that is natural and appropriate for others to see.

This task force “on the Sexualization of Girls examined research papers covering the effect of all kinds of media content including television, music videos, magazines, video games, the Internet, movies, and music lyrics. They also looked at the way products are sold and advertised to young girls.” (source for the above quote and this one is here).

The findings of the task force were disturbing, but not all that surprising (to me, anyway). “The report suggests that the sexualization of girls impedes the healthy development of a girl or young woman in several different areas. For example by undermining her confidence and making her feel dissatisfied with her body, this can result in negative self-image and lead to feelings of shame and anxiety. Also, a body of evidence now links sexualization with several of the most common mental health problems in young women and girls: eating disorders, low self -esteem and depression. And there is also the increased chance that it will impact a girl’s ability to develop a healthy sexual self-image.”

I can’t really imagine how this is not a “real problem”. The fact is that the only images people in our culture are seeing of breasts are highly sexualized and pornographic in nature, which has been identified as the cause of multiple issues as described above. What better way to combat this issue than to remove the shame and negativity surrounding the act of breastfeeding and let our society see breasts being used in a way that is natural, non-sexual, and incredible (the intricacy of the design of milk production and the science of breastfeeding is quite fascinating and awe-inspiring!).

Our culture needs to see breasts being used in a context other than sexual if this twisted way of thinking is to ever be overcome. Check out this article and this website on how the over-sexualization of breasts is a cultural phenomenon that is hurting young people, men and women, and society as a whole. How many in our culture grow up having ever seen a non-sexualized photo of normal breasts? Breast tissue, nipple, and areola. The website that I just linked has hundreds of non-sexual photos of real, normal breasts, and discusses this very issue. Perhaps med students, in their textbooks, have seen photos of breasts. Doctors and nurses have seen breasts on the bodies of their female patients. Most of the general population, however, have no idea what normal breasts look like, because we have declared them to be obscene. The exception of course is the media’s twisted and demeaning portrayal of perky and large breasts that all look the same as the others. The reality though is that normal breasts have many variations in appearance, but thanks to not allowing normal breasts to ever be seen and the portrayal of “hollywood breasts” by the media, young girls are left wondering if they’re normal, and often times they are convinced that they are not. Breast augmentation surgery, mental health and body image issues, self-esteem issues are all issues that stem from this cultural practice of shaming public breastfeeding.

If the breast taboo in Western countries has caused a decrease in successful breastfeeding, then it’s not unreasonable to think it likely that the over-sexualization of breasts has also impacted developing nations. In my own four times visiting the beautiful continent of Africa and living in the homes of nationals for several months as their guests, I was privileged to witness the culture first-hand. My understanding surely only began to scratch the surface, but it was also far more than the average person in our culture will ever see or experience. One thing that I saw frequently was just how intensely our Western culture has influenced theirs. Everything is changing about their culture, for better or for worse, because of the common perception that the “white man’s” way is better. The reasons for this are more complex than I could possibly unpack right now, but suffice it to say that it is not at all a stretch to think that our culture’s unhealthy obsession with breasts has affected third world countries as well.

The ironic thing about the comment above is that this whole issue really is connected to world hunger, which is what the commenter suggested we worry about in the first place. In this piece in the New York Times by a journalist in Niger, breastfeeding rates in many developed countries are abysmally low. The strong recommendation by the World Health Organization is exclusive breastfeeding until six months of age, with continued breastfeeding to two years and beyond. In developing nations where clean water and adequate nutrition is not readily available, failing to follow this recommendation is far more deadly than in developed nations. Yet in Niger only 9 percent of babies are exclusively breastfed until six months. That’s up from 1 percent in 1998. “Next door to Niger in Burkina Faso, fewer than 7 percent of children get breast milk exclusively for six months. In Senegal it’s 14 percent; in Mauritania, 3 percent”, writes the author.

The Lancet, a British medical journal says that “1.4 million child deaths could be averted each year if babies were breast-fed properly. That’s one child dying unnecessarily every 22 seconds.” I’m not claiming that the over-sexualization of breasts in our culture and the pressure and shame surrounding uncovered nursing in public is the direct cause of babies dying in the third world, but I cannot deny that it seems highly likely that there is a connection, and the author of the NYT piece quoted above asks the same question.

Let’s help normalize breastfeeding and fight against the objectification of women’s breasts. Of course, your number one priority as a mama is your baby. Do whatever you and your baby need. Then consider your own role in this important conversation, and decide how you can help.

My breasts are an amazingly designed part of my body. They give nourishment and comfort to my babies. If that seems weird, obscene, or gross to you, then I feel sincerely sorry for you.

Breastfeeding in public – uncovered and unashamed – is not only my personal right. It is my responsibility. There are exceptions, of course, and I’m not saying that a distractible baby needs to be uncovered for the sake of making a statement, or someone who feels very shy because of their own body issues and upbringing, etc. should breastfeed uncovered for the sake of society at large. I do think though, that this is an issue that concerns us all. A topic very much worth discussing. And it is a conversation that I dare you to have more often.

***

UPDATED TO ADD: This post has turned into a four-part series, with this being Part Three. The entire series is as follows:

Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Reclaiming My Womanhood From Perversity
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Is It Obscene and Inappropriate?
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Not Worth the Controversy?
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: What If It Makes Others Uncomfortable?

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Does this photo offend you? Just wondering. Because this is WAY more skin than I'd normally be showing while nursing in public. Most people would probably say that this is a beautiful image of bonding and love, and not inappropriate at all (nursing my daughter just minutes after she was born last summer). Oh, and by the way this is less exposed than most women on a beach on a typical summer's day. A perfect case in point is the commenter's public Facebook photos (see explanation below).

I wanted a bit of controversy to liven things up around here, and my last post sure delivered! Breastfeeding in public is about as controversial as it gets, and the comments that I’ve gotten (both here on the blog and via Facebook) have been interesting to say the least.

***

UPDATED TO ADD: The first post has turned into a four-part series, with this being Part Two. The entire series is as follows:

Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Reclaiming My Womanhood From Perversity
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Is It Obscene and Inappropriate?
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Not Worth the Controversy?
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: What If It Makes Others Uncomfortable?

***

I tend to suppress my soapbox-ishness most of the time because I find that most people in our culture (with some exceptions of course) are simply incapable of rational debate and logical thought. If that sounds judgmental to you, then feel free to believe that I’m referring to you as the exception

Sometimes though, there’s a fire in me on a particular issue that I just need to express, and where else but on my blog? It’s my own personal space to share my thoughts and opinions as I see fit, and others are perfectly free to come and go as they please. Nothing here is required reading. I only ask that if you share your thoughts in response (which I LOVE) that you do it respectfully and with thoughtfulness (and by that I mean that you actually think through what you say). A debate about a controversial issue is not really the place to spout off emotional opinions without rational thought or basis. It’s just not helpful. I’m not going to run down the list and tell you which comments I thought were not very well rationalized. I will just let my own responses speak for themselves.

***

{Each bolded quote is a comment that I received (either here on on FB) specifically regarding this post. Please note that all comments are cut and pasted exactly as they were written, including any spelling/grammatical errors. Below are my responses.}

“This article fails to take into account that a woman pursuing her right to openly breast feed is forcing someone else to give up their right to be in that same public place without having to look at another woman’s breast. Just because the woman nursing doesn’t view her body as private or sacred, doesn’t mean others need to be forced to see it. Many woman do. All this article is talking about is men being aroused or offended. But there are plenty of woman out there who are. Or perhaps, a mother who has not yet had that talk with her young child. In aggressively asserting your right to nurse, you are forcing others to give up theirs.”

Yikes! Where to begin?

First of all, I do view my body as sacred.

{I also think it’s completely unfair and irrational to assume that a woman who breastfeeds without covering doesn’t view her body as sacred. She perhaps has a greater view of the sacredness of her body and what it is capable of doing than does the average person who thinks that teeny-tiny bikinis are ok but breastfeeding is obscene}.

It doesn’t logically follow that just because my body is sacred that I must therefore keep it completely covered. Unless of course you agree with the extremist Muslim groups who force women to wear burqas.

{does she hold her body as sacred? more than you and I?}

I also would say there are certain parts of my body that I consider to be private, but not all parts. I do wear normal clothing, like pants and shirts, just like most everyone else, but I don’t cover my entire body from head to foot. I don’t wear a burqa, or walk around covered from head to toe in any way. I will have to completely disagree that this means I don’t view my body as sacred.

Also, if I’m being honest this comment kind of made me laugh. There is no such thing as the “right to be in a public place without having to look at another woman’s breast”. There are public nudity laws, but breastfeeding is legally exempt from those. It is, in fact, the complete opposite from the so-called “right to not see another woman’s breast”.

You are sadly misinformed if you think that you have any sort of “right” to not see a mother breastfeeding her baby without covering up. The law protects the exact opposite, and says that asking or demanding that a mother cover up or hide while breastfeeding is in fact discriminatory and illegal.

In Canada the right to breastfeed in public is protected by the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, with specific legislation in Ontario and British Columbia, and support from the provincial Human Rights Commissions. There are also numerous cases of companies harassing women while breastfeeding in their establishment only to have to backpedal and publicly apologize later. ”The Ministry of the Attorney General of British Columbia states it this way, “Nursing mothers have the right to breastfeed their children in a public area, and it is discriminatory to ask them to cover up or breastfeed somewhere else.”(source)”.

In the United States, the right to breastfeed is even more explicitly protected, with specific legislation having been passed in a majority of the states declaring a mother’s right to breastfeed in any public place without harassment or discrimination.

In this comment, the word “force” (or some variation) was used three times, with the word “aggressive” thrown in for good measure. I find this absurd as well, to be honest. No one is forcing you to eat at that restaurant, or shop at that store, let alone look at the breastfeeding mama and babe. No one put a gun to your head and demanded you go sit in the coffee shop and stare at the woman sitting there quietly breastfeeding her baby. You are perfectly free to leave or look away (or as has been so eloquently stated before: “put a blanket over your own head”). You do in fact have that “right”.

I’m not entirely sure what this commenter was getting at when she said that some women are aroused or offended too. My post mostly referred to men because they are more commonly the ones that have issues with seeing breastfeeding. If a woman was aroused or offended by it I’d say the exact same things to her as I would to the male population. Was there a further point here that I’m missing?

The last thing from this comment that I will address (it was quite the comment…) is this “a mother who has not yet had that talk with her young child”. I’m assuming that the implication is that somehow a young child would be harmed psychologically by seeing a woman breastfeed, or by finding out that breasts are not just a sex toy. I’m not sure what “talk” she is referring to, but perhaps it would go something like this: “Honey, now that you are nearly a teenager and your view of breasts and a woman’s body has been firmly twisted and distorted by the hyper-sexualized and pornographic culture and media, I think it’s time to tell you that breasts are actually… um… also used for nourishing babies…!!!” I can imagine how disturbing that would be. Personally I would rather contribute to the normalization of breasts being used for breastfeeding and fight against the devaluation of women as sexual objects.

Do you want to know the most ironic and ridiculous thing? I clicked on this particular person’s public facebook profile (not someone I know at all), and there were photos posted of her wearing a tiny bikini at the beach. If she wants to fabricate out of thin air the right to not see other women’s boobs, then perhaps she shouldn’t be flashing hers all over a public beach, not to mention wearing extremely low-cut tops that show a ton of cleavage. Is it just me, or is that the most head-scratching representation of hypocrisy that I’ve seen in a very long time? Realistically though, she is sadly also a victim of our culture’s irrational pronouncement that THIS is acceptable in public (don’t click that link if you make a point of avoiding beaches because of the nearly-naked bodies), and yet THIS is not.

***

PLEASE NOTE: the comments + my responses have gotten to be way too long to put in a single blog post, so I am now tackling them one or two at a time. This was the first one. Next up is the assertion that we should stop worrying about such silly things and focus on “real problems like world hunger instead”…

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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{Welcome to my soapbox! Grab a cup of tea and get comfy. This is a long one!}

I have a grand total of 29 months of nursing under my belt now. I nursed Isaac until he was a year, and at nearly 17 months, I’m still nursing Aliza. I’m also pregnant with our third, and anticipating a long and mutually satisfying nursing relationship with the new little one.

I have nursed in pretty well any public place I’ve ever been. I’ve nursed in the thrift store, sitting in an old armchair. I’ve nursed at the mall (and not in the breastfeeding room! how scandalous!). I’ve nursed in a park, at friend’s houses, at restaurants, at the doctor’s office, and at the zoo. If my baby was hungry, I found a place to sit down, and I nursed. I’ve never owned or used a nursing cover, and other than a few times in those brand-new first-time mama days (back when I still sort of believed that it was a shameful thing) I’ve never covered my babies’ heads with blankets. I simply wore tops that enabled me to not flash my postpartum belly flab all around (usually I layered a tank underneath), shifted my clothing as needed to allow my baby access to her lunch, and then sat back to enjoy bonding with my babe.

I recently read an article that was anti nursing-covers. It was a thought-provoking piece that discussed the inherent problems in our culture with expecting women to cover up while nursing. I tend to agree with most of it. The point was not to shame women who wear nursing covers, but to point out the problem with our society that causes women to feel they even need to cover in the first place.

The real issue at hand for me is the expectation that women should cover their breasts at all times, and that it is inappropriate to ever show even the tiniest bit of breast, even if they are simply being used to nourish a baby.

Allow me to explain why…

***

Here are some of the arguments I’ve heard, and my own response to them:

1) Just because breastfeeding is natural doesn’t mean that it should be on display. Sex/urination/defecation are also “natural” and yet we don’t engage in them in public.

MY RESPONSE: Comparing breastfeeding to sex (or urination, etc) is simply not a good analogy. They are entirely different categories. Breastfeeding is the act of feeding a child, not creating one, and it is certainly not similar to urinating or having a bowel movement! Breastfeeding is simply a baby eating a meal. It is not smelly, germy, or dirty. We don’t expect to be served our steak dinner in a public bathroom when we are out to dine. Why should baby? We can stuff an older babe’s face with sweet potatoes while in a high chair, and no one gets offended, so obviously the issue is the fact that it is a breast that is being used, not that the baby is eating. I will address this “offensiveness of breasts” below.

I’d also like to point out that I’ve never whipped my top off like a stripper, flung it across the room, and took on a seductive posture while nursing my babies. I’ve never heard of any other woman doing that either. Sex and breastfeeding are simply two completely different bodily functions which happen to both involve breasts in very different ways. Sex doesn’t involve drinking milk, and breastfeeding does not include reproduction. The differences are so obvious I fear I am overstating my case, but then again I find this “argument” pretty ridiculous to begin with.

2) If a man sees a tiny sliver of breast, then he will be flung into sin and temptation for sexual lust and perverse thoughts. We are responsible for guarding this from happening whenever possible!

MY RESPONSE: My husband says that he has never seen a woman breastfeeding and become sexually aroused or experienced lustful thoughts. He also doesn’t know of any other guys for which this is an issue. That doesn’t mean that it never happens, but I think it’s worth mentioning that perhaps this is far, far from being the norm. Furthermore, perhaps the normalization of breastfeeding in our culture could cause men to have a healthier view of a woman’s body as having dual purposes for both reproduction/breastfeeding, and sexuality. Perhaps perverse ways of thinking about a woman’s breasts can be blamed at least in part on the fact that breastfeeding in public is surrounded by shame and controversy, and the fact that our culture is way over saturated by the sexualization of the woman’s body, especially breasts. (By “perverse ways” I mean the idea that breasts are solely sexual objects that exist for a man’s sexual pleasure, and the idea that a man cannot see them as anything else. Like a way to nourish babies.)

And again, furthermore, perhaps we should recognize that a man’s sexual sin is his own responsibility, and that men are faced every day in our culture with inappropriate sexual imagery, whether it’s an ad on the side of a bus, a 60 foot ad on the wall in a shopping mall, or Kim Kardashian’s cleavage on a magazine cover in the grocery store. My husband is not a cave man, nor an animal. He has the ability to channel his sexual passions where they belong – within our marriage. If he sees something designed to sexually stimulate or arouse outside of the proper context of marriage (ie. other than his wife), he has trained his mind to “move along!”

One more point on this one: I think it’s pertinent to point out that men have imaginations (and plenty of real pictorial representation to draw on thanks to our culture). If they see a woman nursing under a giant piece of fabric, they more than likely know exactly what you are doing, as does everyone within a half-mile radius. There’s no hiding those things. Your breasts may not be showing, but a man is still perfectly capable of lusting in his heart simply by thinking about the breasts that are so obviously uncovered under that piece of fabric. Same thing goes for a woman who picks up her crying baby and leaves the room to nurse privately. Most men will probably figure out what you are doing, and again, are perfectly capable of lusting and thinking perverse thoughts should they so choose. If in fact it is the woman’s responsibility to guard the man from lusting, then perhaps we should consider not leaving the house for the duration of the nursing relationship? It would be 16.5 months and counting for me, though I daresay I’d be getting cabin fever by now.

3) Breasts are inherently sexual, and as such are inherently private.

MY RESPONSE: Actually they are inherently dual-purposed. Breasts were designed to give sexual pleasure within a marriage covenant, and they were designed to nourish and comfort a baby. One purpose is not greater than the other.

I would argue that by rightly criticizing the hyper-sexualization of our culture we have thrown the proverbial baby out with the bath water, and forgotten that breasts were actually designed for something other than luring a man into a store to open his wallet.

I love how a new (to me) blogger called MamaPsalmist puts it: “If/when men only see breasts in a sexualized way, the sexuality is reinforced with each exposure.  When you start to temper that extreme view, you desensitize him to his incorrect notion that breasts are only for him.” It makes sense! No wonder a perverse/incomplete view of a woman’s body is so common – “uncovered” breastfeeding in public is practically a taboo in our culture. Men (not to mention young men/teenagers for whom this is even more critical!) are not given the opportunity to take on a healthy view of women’s bodies. They are set up for failure from the start, and we are victims of our own making.

The fact that breasts are seen only as a source for a man’s sexual fulfilment is simply a reflection of our culture’s perverse view of the woman’s body. I for one choose to not perpetuate the perversity by agreeing that breastfeeding is shameful or in any way needing to be hidden or covered. I totally get that some women are uncomfortable with nursing in public, and that covering up helps them to nurse more comfortably when they otherwise may not even nurse at all. I understand that, and I am glad that they have decided to breastfeed despite feeling unsure/uncomfortable. But until more and more of us are willing to stand against this perverse understanding of breastfeeding and the woman’s body, each generation of new mamas will continue to feel unsure and uncomfortable by doing one of the most natural things by breastfeeding her baby. I believe that this is an injustice and a tragedy.

If scores of men began admitting that they find a woman’s lips extremely seductive (this is actually completely realistic!), would we as women feel it is now our duty to cover our faces? Lips are another good example of a body part that has dual-functions of eating and sexuality. We use our lips to eat, and we use them for kissing. Perhaps we should all just wear burqas? Where would we draw the line? I think this question is begging an answer, and I’d love to hear any possible counter-argument. The only way to avoid that conclusion would be to admit that it is not a woman’s responsibility to ensure that men are not tempted. Of course I’m not saying that we can or should dress like whores, but to be honest I believe that the main issue with dressing like a whore would be disrespecting the body that God gave me, not leading a man into sin.

4) The Bible itself views breasts as sexual objects – haven’t you read Song of Solomon?!

MY RESPONSE: Ah yes, this is what led me to click over to MamaPsalmist’s site in the first place. What a fascinating study she has done! She has discovered that the Bible does in fact reference breasts a fair bit. There are seven references to breasts in a sexual manner: four in Song of Solomon, two in Ezekiel, and one in Proverbs. Then she writes, “How many times does the bible reference breasts in the context of breastfeeding?  14.  Plus 10 other references to nursing and drinking mother’s milk.  Twenty-four times the bible references breastfeeding without shame.   Without hesitation.  Without hiding it under a blanket or in another room.”

In case you missed it – the biblical references to breasts as sexual objects are less than half of all biblical references to breasts/breastfeeding/mother’s milk.

5) There are a lot of creepos out there. Do you really want some random dude in the mall seeing your breasts and getting off on it?

MY RESPONSE: Well, uh, I’d have to say no, I don’t believe I would want that (duh!). But there are also pedophiles walking around, who may see my children sitting with me and think nasty perverse things about them. I can’t really prevent that, and to be honest, I’m glad I don’t know about it. What is the answer? To pretend I don’t have children? Maybe stuff them in a suitcase? Under a burqa? Never let them leave the house again? Hmmm. Clearly that argument is not really helpful. I will not put a “what if” before my baby’s need to be fed. The thought of doing so is clearly ridiculous, and would likely lead to hiding away in my basement for the rest of my life.

***

Obviously I feel strongly about this issue. I’ve been thinking about it for several years, and I’ve read and discussed many times on it. But why?

Because I dream of a culture where women can feel completely free to nourish their babies in the most natural and beautiful way, uninhibited by perverse and demeaning views of their bodies.

I refuse to buy into the lie that I should be ashamed of my body, or of using it to feed my baby her lunch.

I refuse to hide, to cover, or to be embarrassed if I accidentally flash a small bit of skin while my wiggly baby is latching on.

I refuse to be guilted into thinking that seeing me using my breasts to feed my baby are the cause of a man’s sin.

Because one day, perhaps if enough women refuse to perpetuate the lies any longer, we will take our womanhood back from the sexualized perversity that has claimed it, and be free to enjoy our God-given purpose and identity once again.

***

UPDATED TO ADD: This post has turned into a four-part series, with this being Part One. The entire series is as follows:

Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Reclaiming My Womanhood From Perversity
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Is It Obscene and Inappropriate?
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: Not Worth the Controversy?
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public: What If It Makes Others Uncomfortable?

*

Linked up with Megan @ SortaCrunchy for My Green Resource this week!

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

More Posts - Website - Twitter - Facebook - Pinterest

The kiddos are downstairs in their new playroom happily going about their childhood, not (yet) fighting or crying or needing me for one of a million possible reasons. I stand at the sink dreamily washing the dishes because the dear hard-working hubby has not yet had a chance to install the dishwasher. The warm water and suds swirl around my hands, turning them pruney, as I listen to Christmas music and feel quite productive. After all, it’s only 9:30am and I’ve showered, dressed, made and served breakfast, washed the dishes (almost), and remembered to do vitamin D and CLO all around. Others may laugh at my version of productivity, but to me this day is unfolding with joy and an everydayness that is the very reason for why I consider my life to be untradeable and inimitable.

There is no other place I’d rather be.

I am not an oppressed woman, bound to the kitchen and the badly-needing-swept-floors. To the wiping of snotty noses and diapered bums. I am not a victim of a system of anti-feminists and narrow-minded patriarchs. It may not be glamorous in the traditional sense of the word but please, know this: I am a strong woman with a mind of her own (oh mercy, many can attest to this fact!), and I willingly and gladly and knowingly chose this life. This exact life.

Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, with a contentedness that you could not buy for all the money in the entire world.

That is perhaps the real reason for this sense of productivity: the peace in my heart and the joy that bubbles in my toes, tapping to the Christmas music, as I scrub the pot of burnt chili from last night’s dinner. There are dinner fiascos, cranky children (and parents), distance between spouses, pregnancy fatigue, losing tempers and yelling, apologies, and always, always a return to each other’s arms, eventually. This is one family that will not be taken down, that will not be allowing a crack for the enemy to enter. This is real life and it is too damn valuable to be anything less than amazing. And so we press on. Burnt dinner, arguments, and toes touching in bed as we fall asleep, and we breathe deep in the beauty of the mundane stuff that is our life.

Woven in throughout the stuff of life is the joy and peace of knowing that this is it. This is the life I asked for, and I wouldn’t trade it. For this moment, I am focused on the things that matter, and when you catch that glimpse of joy it is deep and soul-burning. My breath catches in my throat, and I know.

I just know.

This is love.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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It is a total honour for me today to share with you this interview that I had the pleasure of doing with Sarah from Emerging Mummy. She is a strong woman and a provocative writer with an almost poetic style that just flows, rich with wisdom and depth. Her heart is beautiful and kindred, and I am blessed to call her a friend.

Her recent piece “In Which I Write a Letter to Women’s Ministry” is well-deserving of your time, and has garnered quite a reaction from a varied audience. Other favourites of mine include pretty well every post in her Practices of Mothering series, and also this one “In Which I Can Feel Like Sisyphus“, and oh, so many more!

Enjoy!

***

1. How long have you been a housewife? How many kids do you have?

I’ve been married for a little over 10 years now. My three tinies are 5 year old Anne, 3 year old Joe and 6 month old Evelynn.

2. When was the first time you really reflected on your womanhood, and what it means?

I was brought up in a family of strong women – my mother, my Aunties, my Grannys, my cousins. My mother walked in tremendous freedom and confidence; her voice was valued in our home. She and my father modelled a healthy and loving egalitarian marriage. They are both strong personalities and I learned a tremendous amount from both of them about womanhood. They both had high expectations on us in every way. I don’t think I realised what a gift this was until I was confronted with what many in our society (and to be truthful, a lot of churches) believe about womanhood.

Then when I was in my late teens and 20s, I came into a new understanding of womanhood, particularly the power of sisterhood. And then once I gave birth to my tinies, I’ve become more passionate about the voice of women in our world for redemption, reconciliation with God, wholeness and justice. I wasn’t intent on becoming so passionate about womanhood, not on my radar at all really, but when I experienced and saw the change that women can bring about in their homes, their families, the broader world, it seemed to me that if women were released from whatever is holding them back (and there is a lot) then a lot of the issues would be tackled. My carpenter-theologian of a husband has been a big part of my freedom to write and speak boldly about what interests me – in the world, in politics, in the church, in theology, in mothering, in love – he encourages my voice and gives me tremendous honour, challenges me.  And we love to wrestle through our thoughts together. He has been deeply influential in my growth and perceptions on womanhood. His passion for our tinies – not just our girls but also our son – to also experience a redeemed God-view of personhood is as deep as my own.

Also, I work for Mercy Ministries of Canada which is a free-of-charge, residential home for young women that struggle with many life-controlling issues (drug and alcohol abuse, physical and sexual abuse, depression, eating disorders, self-harm and so on). And to hear their stories, to witness Jesus transform their lives as they begin to live life with hope, intention and love is incredible. These women are my heroes. I often say that if I could have most people sit down to talk with these women, most of us would become more passionate about womanhood!

3. What do you think is lacking in society’s understanding of women?

In the broader society, one that springs to mind is that I think that we reduce a woman down to her appearance. We define ourselves by our appearance, we define each other by our appearance. The world will tell you that you are only worthy of love if you look or act a certain way. And that is a tremendous lie to overcome, to see beyond our cultural definitions of beauty to God’s definition of beauty and loveliness. We also tend to value a woman by her relationships to others – is she a wife? a mother? is she doing those things “the right way”?

I also struggle with society’s views on a womans’ sexuality – the growth and normalisation of pornography, human slavery/sex trafficking, even hyper-sexuality among young people – all of it is connected to the lack of value on womanhood, on personhood, on being made in the image of God. Our culture is quite messed up on womanhood.

And then beyond that, within the church, we have benched half the church with flawed theology around womanhood. So there is that as well. But I won’t stir that pot for you here.

4. Do you think that any of the ‘women stereotypes’ are true?

Well, not really. I don’t think that stereotypes are particularly helpful for true understanding. And almost every stereotype I have heard about women – they are catty, they don’t like sex, they are jealous, they like chocolate, they all want to be wives and mothers – isn’t true for some women (just as there are many men that actually do like emotional intimacy or don’t like to shoot things and so on). Womanhood is diverse in every way – as it should be.  When we direct all of our energies towards meeting the needs of the stereotypes or even guarding ourselves against the stereotypes of women, we don’t leave room for God to move, for the universal truths about women and men to emerge, for true relationship, vulnerability and authenticity.  I think it’s more helpful to look at a woman as her own person, at a man as his own person, and leave the assumptions at the door.  I admit to kicking against stereotypes rather joyfully. I have found women to be just as diverse as men in their likes, their dislikes, their opinions, their sexuality, their personalities. It’s reductionist and childish to lump us together simply by gender.

5. How does having a global perspective change your view of women?

Immensely. Once I realised that God’s view of womanhood is much broader than “stay at home mum” vs. “work at home mum” for instance – that there is a broad, beautiful quilt of womanhood in every season of life and calling, that many choices we have in the West are, by their very nature, choices of privilege, it changed everything.  I became ashamed of some of my more myopic views, not only of womanhood but of Christianity, war, birth, mothering, peace, justice, community, money, success, all of it. Part of my journey has been a move towards peacemaking or what I call “an uneasy pacifism” – much of that was motivated by my understanding of womanhood from a global perspective, from the realisation that women in Afghanistan, Iraq and the world over are my sisters and we are in this together. I am tremendously inspired and challenged by the voices of women around the world – our sisters from all parts of the globe in Iran, Ireland and the Ivory Coast. It’s a beautiful song we’re singing.

6. How do you relate to other women? Do you find it easy to do?

I love women. I love to listen to women, I love to hear our stories, to worship together, to pray together, to work together, to laugh. I value my friendships and try to stay in touch despite our frequent moves or the dailyness of life. Now forgive the generalisation ahead —  I find that most women are walking wounded in their relationships with other women. But – and there’s the but – they are hungry for women. They know in their soul we are meant to be on the same side, we are meant to be together, that there is something beautiful in sisterhood. So I try to give what I’ve heard called the gift of being second. I take the first step – make the first phone call, make the first overture of friendship, make the first confession, get vulnerable and authentic and truthful first and then they only have to step out in the safe space I’ve created for us.

7. If you could have coffee with any woman in history, who would it be?

Oh, gracious! that’s a great question. I’d love to sit down with Mother Theresa, with Luci Shaw, Madeline L’Engle, Maya Angelou, Tina Fey, Marilyn Skinner. I could go on for days! But there are also a lot of women in my life that I love to sit down with that aren’t famous in the least, just quietly leading lives of dignity and love and hope – those are usually the true heroes, let’s be honest.

***

Now it’s your turn! Pick your favourite question (or two!) and tell me your answers. This is the stuff I love to chat about with friends over a good cup of tea (and if you also live here in Tiny Town then let’s have a Tea House date to do that!), so please do share… I’d love to hear your thoughts on these questions and on womanhood in general.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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{above: getting my hair done for my sister(in-law)’s wedding in August}

***

I was browsing the bookstore, hot beverage of choice in hand, wasting time.

Teenagers have abundant amounts of free time, and I was using mine in a bookstore. I was a bit of a geek, which, in hindsight, didn’t help matters much… But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

I don’t remember how, but a beautiful large coffee-table-style book caught my eye. The subject? Redheads. Intrigued, I pulled it down to look through it. I opened it up to find beautiful full-page photographs of all manner of redheads. Young and old, curly and straight, freckled and non-freckled.

The introductory text began as follows: “Redheads are traditionally thought of as the ugly members of society…”

Ouch.

Um, thanks for that memo…

***

That was my introduction to the fact that red hair is not usually considered “beautiful”. Oh sure, I’ve had scads of people tell me in person that they think my hair is absolutely gorgeous. Random strangers, even. It happens regularly. But traditionally the blondes and brunettes are thought to win out over redheads in the attractiveness department. Call me sheltered, but I had no idea, until that moment. I wouldn’t say it scarred me for life, or shattered my self-image… but let me tell you – I never forgot it.

Every girl/woman goes through some sort of body image journey in her life. I’ve never met or heard of a woman who can honestly say that she’s never struggled to think of herself as beautiful.

That journey for me started at summer camp when I was a wee elementary-school-age kid, and a cabin mate informed me that she had figured out “what was wrong with me”. She told me that I “have no chin”. I did in fact have a bottom jaw that was too far back, and ended up having surgery when I was 17 to break both of my jaws, move the bottom one forward, shorten the top one, and I now have permanent titanium screws and plates in my head, holding them together {the surgery was for medical reasons}.

The thing was, I had no idea before that moment that my chin was any different from anyone else’s.

My self-image continued to unfurl its way into my consciousness when I was introduced to makeup at a friend’s house after school in grade 5 or 6. I discovered that my red-blonde, almost invisible eyelashes and eyebrows could be dark like the magazine models by using a bit of mascara and pencil.

I haven’t really gone out in public without makeup on more than a handful of times since.

Except… the last month or so. I’ve worn makeup about a total of maybe two times.

My naked face has been strangely liberating.

source: http://pinterest.com/pin/21246616/

You have to understand – this is momentous. I have always ALWAYS put on makeup just to leave the house for any reason – the grocery store, the library, good grief even the swimming pool (that’s what waterproof mascara is for, right?). I have wondered at times though what it was in my mind that prevented me from just letting go and being ok with the face God gave me.

To be clear… I don’t think there’s anything wrong with makeup, unless you think there is something wrong with your face without it.

I have also wondered what impressions my children were gaining as they watched me paint my face each and every day. Would they think that a woman could not be beautiful unless she was wearing makeup? Would my son learn to objectify women as objects of contrived beauty and slaves to the commercial beauty industry? Would my daughter learn that her physical worth was found in a makeup bag, and that she wasn’t good enough on her own?

I was at my favourite place here in Tiny Town to pick up a dessert and take it home for hubby and I just over a month ago. I had no makeup on, hadn’t showered, and basically looked like crap (according to my personal charitable assessment). Karen, the loveliest tea house owner in the world, asked if I was staying, and I sort of laughed and said “oh gosh no, I haven’t showered, I don’t even have any make-up on, I normally wouldn’t even have left the house like this if it weren’t for an insurmountable carrot cake craving!”. She looked me in the eyes and told me that she had actually been thinking that my face looked particularly beautiful at that time.

I don’t know if she was just being polite, but for some crazy reason, I believed her.

Of course, I’ve always known that I am beautiful “in Christ” (whatever that even means), beautiful on the inside, blah blah, etc. But something in me has recently changed.

I now believe it about my outside too.

{It had been brewing in me for nearly a year now, but my dear friend’s comment that night really did me in}.

Shortly thereafter I started going out in without makeup on. To places I’d never have gone before without at LEAST my mascara and eyebrow pencil. Girls’ night, Mom’s Group, out and about in town, the city, small group, etc. The funny thing was – I didn’t get treated any differently, and I mostly forgot that I “looked different”.

I am finding that the body image that the world tried so hard to place upon me has sometimes slipped my mind altogether, and I often find myself completely convinced that I am beautiful. Not in the cookie-cutter Hollywood kind of way, but in my own “me” kind of way. In the red haired and freckled kind of way. And, to be honest, I’ve always kind of thought that my blue eyes were a particularly pretty shade .

I laugh in the face of the branding of ugliness that is so prevalent among girls and women. I rebel against the self-deprecation that has become almost expected among us. I refuse to let those lies permeate my mind.

I have red hair.

Freckles.

A chin that I struggle to really love.

A stretch-marked and decidedly un-model-like body that has served me well, and a sexiness that you will not find in a magazine.

Gorgeous blue eyes (did I really just say gorgeous? hello, self-confidence!).

I sometimes forget my “ugliness”, and it’s a really beautiful thing.

***

{This post is part of my Confessions of a Real Housewife series. I’m a little behind due to first-trimester fatigue and the fact that we moved across town two days ago. I am plugging along and plan to finish the 31 Days regardless, so I hope you continue to read and share your thoughts. Thanks for grace and understanding!}

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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{under keys to a great marriage, see also: “marry a sexy italian pilot”. i’m guessing it’s relative to each person’s situation, but hey, it worked for me }

***

{Yes, this is day 26. Yes, I’m just now posting a day 25 post. Yes, I do believe that means I am an official failure. OK, I’m (mostly) kidding. Perfectionism is a beast, but I will give myself grace. I will. I will…

I am 7 weeks pregnant, and this dang first trimester is steam rolling me right into the ground. I’ve been napping in the afternoons. NAPPING! I *don’t* nap. Like, uh, EVER. So the fact that my eyelids feel heavier than a half-ton load is quite the indication that perhaps this baby the size of a chickpea (or whatever other legume we’re comparing unborn children to this time) is completely and utterly kicking my (ever-widening) butt. It’s that crazy did-someone-slip-something-into-my-drink-because-i’m-gonna-just-pass-out-now feeling. It’s freaky. The first time I was pregnant this happened too, and I figured if I didn’t know I was pregnant, I would be convinced I was dying. Nonetheless I don’t want to give up, and I will have 31 posts in the end. I’m not sure if I will add an extra after the series to make up for yesterday, or if I should try to catch up now. Either way… I’m gonna keep chugging along…}

***

So, let’s talk about selflessness. I think this is the number one most difficult thing to do in a marriage. Heck, just in general. We as humans are not inclined to selflessness, not in the slightest. Our human fleshly nature is prone to looking out for numero uno first and foremost, because if we don’t, then who will? (or so we think). It is counter-cultural, it goes against our nature, and it is nearly impossible on our own strength.

In other words, I am so freaking selfish. I am wrapped up in myself, my needs, my wants, and my desires. As much as I try not to be, I catch myself doing it again and again. This sinful nature warps my mind and clings to my leg like dead weight that just won’t let go.

And yet…

I strive. I do not give up. I trudge along toward selflessness, and I choose to die to myself and live in Christ. I can make a choice for selflessness in my marriage.

The dictionary defines selflessness as follows:

selfless

Despite all of that, we know that a marriage partnership is best served by selflessness from both partners. The very act of marriage is a declaration that you care for this person and commit to serving his or her needs above your own. This is not meant to be a rote act of grim determination (though it may need to start out that way). Rather, it is a heart condition; the very act of dying to self is inherent in the journey of a Christ-follower, and this spills out into our relationships as well. Our motivation is love, and our hearts are desperate for genuine reciprocal selfless love. To be loved with abandon (of self-interest, of inhibitions), and to love in return – that is a gift.

I find that the closer I am to Christ in my days, the easier it is to act selflessly for my husband. To what is your heart attuned? (I ask myself). What is influencing your mind and soul? Turn your ears and eyes to Him, and you will find yourself emulating his character. Find Him woven into your days and seek the divine among the mundane. There is beauty in this wrestling, as we seek to throw off our old nature and take on the new.

I know I feel loved when he puts me before himself. It is a mighty powerful thing. And it can be the little things! In fact, it most often is the little things… like when I was finishing putting Isaac to bed the other night, and I finally came downstairs to him wiping down the counters after having done all the dishes and cleaning out the fridge (a task that desperately needed done), and he had washed the dishes that came out of the fridge too! He easily could have plopped onto the couch and relaxed instead of doing that task, but he didn’t. He chose to serve me by taking care of the chore I most dread, all without even being asked. I felt abundantly loved in that moment, and motivated to reciprocate.

It’s simple, but a habit I am trying to instill more strongly in our marriage. How does it start, if it’s not already there? It starts with me. I can change my own actions, and trust that he does love me enough to respond in kind (though I must communicate with him to be sure he understands what I am trying to do, otherwise he might not even realize that I am making an effort).

I obviously don’t have it all figured out, and if this post seems scattered and unclear, it is perhaps because I am in the midst of this journey myself. This is a daily struggle for me, as we’ve inched towards selfishness and laziness in our relationship and are trying to figure out how to die to ourselves again, mutually serving each other and loving sacrificially. It all sounds good in theory, but it’s a hard concept to make into reality.

How do you make selflessness a part of your marriage? Do you find it difficult? Do you think it’s important? If you would, share a way that you can serve your spouse in an act of selflessness.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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This post is late.

Technically, it’s still day 24, but my unofficial goal throughout this series has been to have the day’s post up first thing in the morning. So, today’s is late. It’s 3:33pm, and I’m just starting to write. My toddler will wake from her nap any second now, and supper won’t make itself. I don’t anticipate this post being published until after the kiddos are in bed this evening, if I’m lucky (and… it’s 10:10pm. Looks like I was right!).

I’m going to make this short and sweet – I’m in my first trimester of pregnancy, my kids are both coughing and snotty messes, and they wake up at the ungodly hour of 6am these days. All that to say – I’m headed to bed as soon I hit publish.

The lesson for me today was simple – keep your priorities in check. Today, my kids, my house, and my husband needed me, and I chose to put them first. That, unfortunately, meant that a blog post did not get written and posted on time.

What I did manage to accomplish, however, was three meals, a clean kitchen, a clean and vacuumed living room, 5 loads of laundry (with great credit to my amazing honey), listening to the three-year-old telling me a long and drawn out story as I gave him my undivided attention, holding and nursing my teething toddler who just needed a little bit of extra mama today, bath time, bed time, and then snuggling on the couch with popcorn and a movie on our laptop.

There was a little bit of frustration, some harsh words, and breaths of grace lavished richly. Tears, pain, and clashing. Cuddles, love, and comfort. And at the end of the day, we had family story time in our PJ’s, and cuddled them as they drifted off to dreamland. Tonight we’ll dole out homemade cough syrup, give drinks of water, and cuddles as needed.

Tomorrow will be a new day, and I have no idea when my blog post will get published.

But that’s ok, because my family is my first priority. Today I chose my priorities wisely, and I feel richly satisfied with my achievements.

May you always remember to choose your priorities wisely, and build into your relationships above all else!

Good night!

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Yikes, the homestretch is upon us! I can hardly believe that the month is soon drawing to a close. Some days I have been more motivated and inspired to write than others, but I have successfully posted every day thus far. Not exactly always on topic (according to the weekly topics I set out), but hey, I’m an INFP, and tend to leave things open-ended, in case ‘something better’ comes along. It’s a blessing and a curse, really. Anyway, this is really not the point of my post for today…

I want to take the next couple of days and talk about some things that I see as necessary for an amazing marriage, before we end off the month with some thoughts on womanhood.

Today I want to share what I think, then I want to hear from you. Mainly because I don’t feel I have it all figured out, and would value your wisdom and input.

One thing that I think is absolutely essential for an amazing marriage is physical touch (and there are rare exceptions, like when a spouse is away from home for extended periods of time, i.e. military, etc). For the most part, for couples living under the same roof and interacting on a daily basis, I think it is vital that there be regular physical acts of affection. And I don’t just mean the obvious act of intimacy. I mean kissing, hugging, holding hands, touching one another in any way. Back rubs and foot rubs, even the simple act of his thumb rubbing my hand absentmindedly as we hold hands, or the way our bums snuggle up to one another each night before we fall asleep, or how our feet find each other under the dinner table. The way our bodies press together in embrace in the kitchen when stress levels are high and we’re all tired, and we just want to be on the same page.

I know that different people have differing levels of need for physical touch/affection, and that can sometimes cause a strain in a marriage. There is however a minimum, I believe. I think physical affection is a necessary part of a healthy marriage. What that minimum is, each couple will have to decide for themselves. What I do know is that when those things listed above are absent from our days, we begin to feel more like (grumpy!) roommates than married lovers.

It’s just natural, isn’t it? When you are with someone you love, you feel inclined to reach out and touch them in some way. We are created as physical beings with bodies that crave touch. It is one of those primal human instincts that is so basic, nad the lack of touch can even be harmful.

It’s so easy when you’re tired, you’re busy, you’re focused on other things, to forget and let the day slip by with nary a kiss or cuddle. I try to be intentional about touch in my days with my honey, in our journey to a great marriage.

Do you find it easy to let physical affection slip through the cracks? Do you intentionally make a point of kissing your spouse every single day? Any other thoughts? 

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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{This insightful guest post is from one of my most favourite bloggers ever: Megan from SortaCrunchy (which recently got a makeover and is SO adorable). Her genuine charm and southern drawl (yes, even in typing!) are just about the most endearing things ever. The best part of her though, is her beautiful heart. She is a woman with a deep love for others, loads of grace, and care for the world around her. She inspires me in so many ways, and I am honoured to have her words in this space today. Please give her a warm welcome and leave your thoughts in the comments!}

***

The picture is all still very clear in my mind: the hotel conference room where we had our rehearsal dinner, filled with some of the most important women in my life. Most had never been in the same room with each other, nor would they ever be again, and yet there they all were, gathering around to watch me open sexy negligees at my “personal shower.” The menfolk and children had long since cleared out, and we were left to ourselves and giggles and stories and advice.

One of the hostesses had asked everyone to share their best pieces of marital advice, and so amidst Victoria’s Secret wrappings and pink tissue paper and slippery, silky nighties, the words of wisdom surrounded me.

To be honest, I don’t remember a lot of what was spoken into my life that night, but there is this one thing I do remember, one thing I took hold of and have put into practice many times in our thirteen years of marriage. One of my best friends, unmarried at the time and two years younger than me (and I was just shy of my 21st birthday, mind you), spoke with authority that it was okay to go to bed angry. Sometimes it’s the best thing you can do, she said.

Well, several of the ladies in attendance jumped in to correct her, but that was no matter to me. In my friend’s words I heard echos of the statement my mother had soothed my broken heart with many times throughout childhood: It’ll be better in the morning.

But, but, but … What about don’t let the sun go down on your anger? Well, it’s true that if we get a little crossways with each other during the day, I do my best to work towards reconciliation and restoration as soon as possible. But somehow there have been quite a few occasions where big feelings exploded late in the day, where just before turning in we turned on each other and the combination of one spouse prone to over-emoting and one spouse prone to retreat and cut-off ended in nothing but fireworks. And not the sexy kind, either.

And so in those moments, I remembered my precious friend’s advice. It’s okay. Sleep it off. Get some perspective. Try again when you are feeling fresh and the physical work of sleep has brought healing to your body. As the sun rises and the coffee pours, we look at each other sheepishly over our steaming mugs and find a way to work things out. Rather than forcing the issue when we are tired and just done with it all, we start with new mercies and a renewed heart for unity.

So that’s my confession. I’ve tossed and turned and seethed and glared all under the shadow of the moon. And our marriage is better for it.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Well hello there, 19-year-old self. You really are such a baby, you know. I know you don’t feel that way – in fact you feel quite like an adult, capable of making life-altering decisions, like about who to love and wed. And I know that the starry-eyed feelings you have for this young man are totally real, and totally not only about being starry-eyed. You are ready to make the commitment and join your soul with his for all of eternity. It’s rare to know it so deeply, like a fire in your bones – like a gut-wrenching truth that that disturbs your consciousness and won’t relent ’til you acknowledge it and agree. I know there are doubters (because you’re “so young!”), but I believe you. I really do.

You also believe that you will be head over heels in love for the rest of your life.

Well, I have to say, on that one, you’re wrong.

You won’t be head over heels in love for the rest of your life. Oh sure, lots of days you will be. There will be days filled with pillow fights and flour fights, romantic fancy dinners out and romantic simple dinners in. Cuddling on the couch with cookies fresh from our oven, and oh, the inside jokes! There will be ample dreaming and planning for a future so ripe with possibilities you’re almost afraid it will burst. Teasing, loving, travelling and experiencing the world together. Mushy gushy lovey-dovey love notes and bending over backwards to make the other feel loved and special. Marking special “firsts” and establishing our own family ways. Candle-light and grown-upness, making breakfast together, naked. Learning the ways of loving each other with our bodies, and enjoying the gift of intimacy with one another in soulful passion. Oh yes, there will be times that will be so, so good.

But there will come a day (sooner than you think) that the fairy tale will have to take a backseat to reality, and you will have to know that not every day will be filled with love notes and mushy feelings.

Some days (seasons) you won’t like him.

Eventually you might wonder “how we got here“.

But again, you will believe that your love for him is so strong, so real, and so fiercely chosen, that it can never be obliterated. Dampened, perhaps. Reignitable? Absolutely. Never, ever forget this, dear one. Never EVER give up on love. 

True love is not always pretty.

But it is always fierce and precociously unstoppable.

It is not always fun. It does not always seem like it can survive another lost night of sleep with the teething babe, another misunderstanding piled upon the countless unresolved others, and another day of self-centredness rather than self-sacrifice.

But it can.

And it will.

Because you and him?

You’re the real deal.

Make the choice to love with passion and honesty. Do not falter, do not waver in your commitment to making it work. Make humility, kindness, compassion, and grace your mantras, and you will be on the right track.

It won’t always be easy, but it will always belong to you and him. He will be your beloved, and you will be his, woven throughout the seasons of reality and toughness.

And that, dear young self, is a beautiful thing.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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